


Harry Potter and the Phoenix's Granted Wish

by Amber_Serpent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Gen, Gringotts Wizarding Bank, Mild Albus Dumbledore Bashing, On Hiatus, Parselmouth Harry Potter, Remus Lupin Lives, Sirius Black Lives, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Wizarding Culture (Harry Potter), Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), canonical pairings - Freeform, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:53:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,836
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24105481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amber_Serpent/pseuds/Amber_Serpent
Summary: When everyone is killed during the final Battle of Hogwarts, Fawkes decides to grant Harry one wish. Surrounded by his dead friends and plagued by the death of Sirius, Harry wishes for a chance to redo it all from the very beginning.THIS IS ABANDONED/ON HIATUS FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.
Relationships: Harry Potter & Severus Snape, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Remus Lupin & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Harry Potter, Sirius Black & Remus Lupin
Comments: 78
Kudos: 429





	1. another chance

**Author's Note:**

> This is abandoned/on hiatus for the foreseeable future.

**Prologue**

another chance

* * *

Harry stared around dully, not blinking as tears slowly slid down his cheeks, creating tracks in the dirt and dried blood on his cheeks. Unmoving bodies littered the ground, various injuries and spells having taken their life. The stone floor was smeared with blood, and the scent was so strong that Harry could smell it.

He shakily looked at his surroundings, sobs making his breaths hitch as his eyes landed on familiar person after familiar person. Ron and Hermione weren’t too far from him. The way that they were laying almost looked peaceful and sadly romantic, with they way that their hands were intertwined. Ginny was laying, slumped over near her mother, both having been hit in the crossfire of a spell after Harry killed Voldemort. He swallowed thickly and turned. He spotted Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan together, and Luna near Colin and Neville, and Professor McGonagall and Professor Slughorn and Hagrid. He even spotted Draco, hunched over in the corner with his parents. It reminded him that he still had the boy’s wand, that maybe Draco would have survived if Harry hadn’t taken it from him. But he had needed a wand, and he was so angry and desperate, so he took it.

Stumbling to his feet, Harry headed over to Draco on impulse. He took the boy’s wand and put it in his wand hand where it belonged. He nodded to himself and looked around, eyes sliding over the bodies of Death Eaters and friends alike. He headed back to where he woke up, stepping over Voldemort’s body in the process. He sneered at it before plopping down on the ground and resting his head in his hands.

Then, he finally allowed the sobs to overtake him. He trembled and sobbed and gasped as the rising sun slowly filled the Great Hall with light. His mind flew over his life. From getting his first letter, to meeting Hagrid, and then Draco, then the Weasleys, Hermione, Neville, his professors, Snape, and Sirius, and Remus, and Tonks and the rest of the Order, and even Kreacher.

He shook as he thought of Sirius’s death, and how it was all his fault, no matter who had told him it wasn’t. If only he had built up his Occlumency walls, if only he had spent more time with Sirius. He should have run from the Dursleys and taken refuge in Grimmauld Place. His thoughts then turned to Remus. Remus, who had been so kind to him and had taught him to cast a Patronus, who had told him about his father. Why didn’t he seek the man out more after Sirius fell through the veil? The man had been his only family left. Why didn’t he talk more with the man?

He wished that he could go back, that he could change everything. That now that he knew things, that he could change what happened, starting from when he first encountered the magical world. He thought about all those witches and wizards who had tipped their hats at him, who had stared at him in awe and excitement. He could have told them that his Muggle family were cruel to him. That they hurt him, that he was often starved or beaten or whipped in punishment for “freaky” things happening that were completely beyond his control.

Perhaps they could have done something, alerted the Ministry or Dumbledore. Harry grumbled at the last bit. Dumbledore probably would have left him with the Dursleys, to be honest. Harry knew that the man meant well, that he meant to protect him, but Harry wasn’t sure. The man kept secrets, kept things that he should have known. That he should have been told. He shook his head. No, Dumbledore did what he believed to be best.

“I wish that I can start over,” he murmured to himself.

Harry’s head jerked up as a melodious cry filled the still and desolate air. His eyes, perfectly trained from spotting Snitch after Snitch, caught the flash of red and gold shimmering in the light. Fawkes soared through the air and Harry’s jaw dropped at the sight of the phoenix. Fawkes hadn’t been spotted since the day of Dumbledore’s funeral when he flew away.

Unconsciously, Harry held an arm out for the bird to perch on. The bird’s sharp claws were surprisingly gentle when he landed on his arm, barely pressing against his skin. Harry stared at the bird.

“Fawkes,” he rasped. “What are you doing here?”

“ _When a wish is to be made, I shall grant it.”_

Harry jerked at the foreign lyrical voice in his mind. His jaw worked but no words came out. Until, finally, “You- _You can speak_?” Harry asked, voice gravely and breaking from his crying.

“ _Of course, child. A phoenix may only speak when the time is right.”_ Harry blinked at the vague words. The way Fawkes spoke reminded him too much of the way Firenze had spoken in his first year. And Dumbledore, for that matter. Very cryptic.

“Why are you speaking to me, then?” Harry asked, wiping at his eyes and cheeks as he sniffed.

“ _You have a wish that I can grant,”_ was all the bird said.

Harry thought for a moment before his eyes widened. “Y-You mean,” he started, his voice shaking, “that you can bring me back? Th-That I can start over?” The phoenix trilled an affirmative.

“ _All you have to do is think of your wish and I shall do the rest,”_ the bird said.

Harry clenched his eyes shut and thought. _I wish that I can go to the beginning. That I can start over._

There was a strong pull in his stomach suddenly, feeling much like a Portkey. His senses began to dull and the light behind his eyes dimmed. _"As you wish. Good luck, Harry Potter,"_ he heard Fawkes say before the darkness overtook him.


	2. here we go again

**Chapter One**

here we go again

* * *

“Up! Get up! Now!”

Harry jolted at the shrill voice, his hand reaching under his pillow in instinct for his wand. Only, he didn’t feel it. His heart raced in his chest in panic as he looked around with wide blurred eyes.

“Up!” was screeched again, followed by a quick rapping on the door beside him. Harry flinched before he blanched. The last time he had heard that voice had been three years ago after the Dementor had attacked Dudley and when the Dursleys had then promptly been whipped away into hiding by the Order.

Fawkes had granted his wish, as unbelievable as it was.

The sound of a frying pan being placed on the stove made Harry jolt again. He looked around his cupboard and grabbed his glasses off a nail in the beam above him, placing the broken frames on his nose. Unconsciously, he cast a wandless and nonverbal _Occulus Reparo_ on the glasses. Harry was glad that a trace wasn’t put on a wizard themselves, but rather their wand the first time they connected to it. Still, even if there was a trace on him, his magic probably would have read as accidental magic. The masking tape unwrapped from the bridge piece of his glasses, vanishing. He forgot how they had broken, but the ache in his nose reminded him of Dudley’s favorite pastime. Harry Hunting.

Harry grimaced. He and Dudley had left on decent terms in the future, but now they were back to square one. Brilliant.

“Are you up yet?” Aunt Petunia demanded, banging on his cupboard door again.

Mentally cursing, Harry called out an “Almost!” as he began to scramble around.

“Well, get a move on!” Aunt Petunia snidely said. “I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn. I want everything to be perfect for Duddy’s birthday.”

Harry grimaced before looking around for a clean set of clothes and a pair of socks. He wrinkled his nose as he sniffed a shirt. It _smelled_ clean enough, and honestly, after having only a few changes of clothes while on the run, this was the cleanest thing he’s held in a while. _Scourgify_ only worked so many times on the same dirty clothes without any proper washing. He swiftly pulled it on, along with a pair of two-sizes-too-big jeans with a belt wrapped twice around his skinny waist. The only pair of socks was under his memory foam “mattress,” where a spider sat. He flicked it off, remembering Ron’s fear of spiders with a fond smile.

Harry shook his head to clear the grief before it could start and stumbled out of the cupboard, only managing to not hit his head due to his fast reflexes. He closed the door softly, his mind going to what would happen to him whenever he was particularly loud. He grimaced. After three years without being yelled at or beaten by the Dursleys, particularly Uncle Vernon and Dudley, he was not looking forward to spending his time here again.

 _At least,_ he thought, _I have Hogwarts._

Thoughts cheering up slightly, he rushed through the hallway and into the kitchen, standing in front of the cooking bacon as if he’s done it a hundred times. Because he had. It may have been a few years since he was the Dursleys’ resident house elf, but such ingrained actions did not simply disappear.

He eyed up the number of presents covering the table, snorting when he spotted the racing bike. As he was turning over the bacon, Uncle Vernon strolled into the kitchen, barking at him to brush his hair. Harry rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help the way his hair grew, and it wasn’t like he even had a hairbrush. And even if he transfigured one of those broken army man toys he had in his cupboard, they would probably take it from him, claiming that he stole it. Then, they would probably hit him with it until it broke. He winced. Yeah, he was going to leave that one alone.

It wasn’t long until the birthday boy himself barreled into the kitchen, eagerly counting his presents. Harry swiftly ate the two pieces of bacon he was permitted to eat before he placed their plates of eggs and bacon on the table. He stood by the counter and hid his eye-rolling as his aunt consoled Dudley about getting more presents later because, apparently, thirty-seven presents weren’t enough.

The telephone rang then and Harry remembered the event at the zoo. He hid a grimace. What a beating that had been when he had gotten home. Not minutes later, Aunt Petunia, face screwed up and looking just as horse-like as Harry remembered, said, “Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figg’s broken her leg. She can’t take him.” Aunt Petunia jerked her head in Harry’s direction.

Harry cringed as the Dursleys looked at him as if he was the cause of all their problems. Yes, he may have defeated the Dark Lord, but he was now a skinny, undernourished eleven-year-old, and was forced to remain in the care of his abusive relatives. And considering their past, he had a right to be nervous in their presence. Harry thought furiously. He didn’t really feel like going to the zoo, perhaps he could go to the park, instead?

“Aunt Petunia...” Harry said slowly as Dudley began a tantrum. Aunt Petunia turned to him, her lips pursed like she swallowed a lemon whole. “Could I perhaps go to the park instead of staying here? That way you don’t have to worry about me being in the house alone.” Harry knew that they weren’t worried about _him_ , but the rather house itself. But, he was using that to his advantage. He hoped that they would leave him alone. “I can walk there, too,” he added, remembering that Uncle Vernon had recently gotten a new car. Harry stood there, head angled down as to not appear too excited.

The doorbell rang, alerting the Dursleys to the presence of Dudley’s best friend, Piers Polkiss. Otherwise known, to Harry at least, as rat-boy.

Aunt Petunia turned her narrowed eyes to him and pointed at the back door. “Go on, then. Weed the garden, first, and then you can leave. Don’t come back until it’s late.”

“And no funny business, boy!” Uncle Vernon added, glaring at him.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon,” Harry said, ducking Dudley’s waving fists as he heard the door open, Piers loudly announcing his presence. Harry rolled his eyes and swiftly tended to the garden, not daring to use magic with the Dursleys here. It didn’t take him long to finish the weeding as he simply spelled most of the weeds to uproot from the ground so all he had to do was drag them into a pile. The Dursleys were long since gone. They would be gone for most of the day.

After collecting the rest of the weeds into a pile, Harry spelled them all into the wheelie bin, making sure that no one around could see him using magic.

Left to his own devices, Harry decided to do what he originally planned, which was to go to the park. He hadn’t been able to relax in a long while and he simply enjoyed his stroll to the local park. Children and their parents were already out and about so Harry sat on an isolated bench, drawing his knees to his chest.

He blinked at a prick of pain and looked down at his hand. He lifted it and looked at his finger, noticing a splinter. It didn’t hurt much and Harry easily pulled the piece of wood out, flicking it away. The pain almost immediately dulled but was still there, annoying just like a paper cut.

Harry didn’t mind the pain, however. The pain made this _real_.

Any doubts that this was simply his overreactive imagination, or even a coma dream he could have after his duel with Voldemort, disappeared. He could nearly sob with joy. His friends, while not currently his friends, _weren’t dead_. His godfather, while currently in Azkaban, _was not dead._ And his honorary uncle, Remus, _was not dead._

Harry shook away the thoughts and sat on the bench, watching the other children—because he was a child, too, now—run around and play with one another. No one bothered to come up to him and ask him to play, and Harry didn’t mind. He would have turned down the offer anyway. He had too much to think about.

Like what to do when he got his Hogwarts letter, for example. He was not willing to force Hagrid to come and get him this time. Nor did he particularly want to go to a little shack on a small island off the coast in the middle of a storm. He shivered at the memory. No, he would have to do something about that.

Perhaps he could read the letter first and then approach Aunt Petunia about it after Uncle Vernon left for work? Aunt Petunia, for as much as she hated him, didn’t hit him as often as her husband did. And even when she did, it was often a glancing blow with a frying pan that Harry had more than a good amount of practice dodging.

Or maybe, he could send a letter back to Hogwarts, letting them know that he knew nothing of magic and asking for help. They would have to send someone then, right? But what about getting an owl? Did an owl even send the first letter? Harry would have to check that line of thought out before he did anything.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon couldn’t possibly claim they knew nothing of magic when an actual wizard showed up at their door.

A scream piercing the air made Harry jump up with a racing heart, green eyes flickering about any sign of danger. There was another scream, this time followed by a child’s laughter. Harry felt foolish. It was simply a pair of girls running away from a boy who, from what he could see from his poorly prescribed glasses, had a worm on a stick and was chasing them. Harry rolled his eyes and sat down again, pressing a hand to his chest in an attempt to calm his racing heart.

He spent the rest of the day just enjoying the warm air watching kids his age play various games. It was only when he spotted a few kids he recognized to be in Dudley’s gang did he finally decide to slip away.

Uncle Vernon’s car was pulling into the drive when Harry turned the corner onto the street. Even though he was about fifteen meters away, Harry could easily hear Dudley and Piers talking loudly about the zoo.

Harry sat on the wall and waited for Piers’s mom to pull up and drive her son home before deciding to head into the house. He had no doubt that Dudley and Piers would have decided to get in a few celebratory hits in before the other boy was forced to leave. He was actually surprised that they hadn’t decided to do so the last time before remembering the beating he had gotten for talking to the snake and making the glass for the cage vanish.

Remembering that made him tread carefully when he approached the house and Harry softly opened the door before shutting it, just in case the door closing would make Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia turn on him.

“Boy!” Uncle Vernon yelled when Harry passed the sitting room. Harry just about managed to stop his jump and he turned to face his Uncle.

“Yes, Uncle Vernon?” Harry asked warily, wondering that his uncle could possibly want.

“There’s wrapping paper all over the kitchen. Go clean it up!” Harry nodded and sighed, despising the fact that he was being forced to be a house elf again. He cleaned up the wrapping paper without comment, however, and stacked Dudley’s presents into neat piles based on size.

All of the computer games went into one pile, while the camera, video recorder, and remote-controlled aeroplane went into another. While moving another boxed item, Harry accidentally nudged a box off the table. He winced at the clatter and bent down to pick it up.

Just as he was standing up, Dudley’s brand new golden watch in hand, a voice behind him yelled, “He’s trying to steal my presents!”

Harry stood swiftly and placed the watch on the table, just as Uncle Vernon bounded into view. The man’s face was turning into a peculiar shade of purple, reminding him of the colour of the Draught of Dreamless Sleep.

“You trying to steal Dudley’s presents, boy?” Uncle Vernon bellowed. Dudley, who stood beside him, was grinning with a malicious look in his eyes.

Harry shook his head. “No, I’m not! I’m just putting them into a pile. Look, I don’t have anything on me!” Harry thrust his hands out. Apparently, that was a bad move.

“The freak’s going to do something freakish!” Dudley crowed just as Aunt Petunia wandered in. She narrowed her eyes at him and Harry swiftly dropped his hands.

“I’m not! I didn’t try to--” Uncle Vernon jerked forward and boxed Harry on the side of his head, causing his glasses to go askew and slice the side if his temple. Harry bit his lip and didn’t struggle when Uncle Vernon dragged him down the hall. The large man ripped open his cupboard door and Harry just about managed not to brain himself on a shelf when a foot connected with his side.

“No meals for a week, boy!” Uncle Vernon snarled. He slammed the cupboard door closed and Harry heard the distinct click of a lock. “And no coming out of your cupboard!”

Harry sat there and blinked at the light streaming through the slats on his cupboard as blood dribbled from the small cut on his head. He wasn’t surprised that Dudley had claimed that Harry was trying to steal his presents, but he was surprised that he hadn’t gotten a beating. He rubbed his side that was throbbing and pressed his fingers to his head.

 _Well, there goes avoiding trouble,_ he thought bitterly as he took away his hand, which was bloody. Harry swiftly did a minor healing spell, wincing as his head stung sharply before dulling. He then cast a _Scourgify_ to get rid of the blood.

Harry’s stomach growled and he ignored it. Not only had he been used to foregoing meals the first time around, but proper food had been hard to come by while on the run for Horcruxes. There was one advantage that he had, Harry realized. He could simply summon food from the pantry into his hands. He may have to play it safe and take things here and there, but he wouldn’t have to starve for a full week before regaining meal privileges.

Plan now in mind, Harry, in his boredom, checked his school bag for any possible homework he had. He closed the slats on his cupboard door and summoned a small ball of light with the use of a modified _Lumos_ spell Hermione taught him since _Lumos_ itself only worked with a wand. Harry swiftly did a maths page and grabbed one of the two books he had to pass the time.

Harry extinguished the ball of light every time he heard the Dursleys walk past him, and when the house finally fell silent, save for Dudley’s and Uncle Vernon’s thundering snores, Harry finally summoned himself two slices of bread, some peanut butter and jelly, and a butter knife.

It wasn’t hard to clean the knife with a simple _Scourgify_ , nor was it difficult to return the items he took. Doing wandless magic felt easier than it was when he started doing the spells just verbally in the beginning. Harry chalked it up to six years of experience.

Harry didn’t feel a lick of guilt over the next week as he continued to summon food to his cupboard, especially since he hadn’t managed to avoid the beating the day after Dudley’s birthday and had to go to school hiding a limp.

When Harry was finally released from his prison and was back in the Dursley’s good graces after a few weeks, he asked to go to the park in the afternoon. School had let out days beforehand, so Harry got his chores done much quicker. Aunt Petunia had only agreed because Harry hadn’t talked back to her or Uncle Vernon once and he had done all of his chores flawlessly—magic was an amazing tool—and without any complaints.

And so, almost every day, Harry could be seen trekking down to the park, a little notebook in hand.

It was there, on that singular isolated bench that he sat on in his first trip, did Harry plan out his future. He did not plan to simply lie back and let things happen as they had in the previous timeline—as he had begun to call it—nor did he want to be ignorant of the wizarding world this time.

As much as he despised blood-purists, knowing your ancestry, especially if you were from a pureblood family, was useful. Knowing various customs was important, as well. Harry was considering asking the goblins if they could help him out. As he had learned in his previous timeline, a little respect went a long way. _Especially_ with goblins.

He wondered if they had some sort of magical pedigree chart for wizards as he had seen for “Aunt” Marge’s dogs that she often displayed when she came around. He despised the thought of comparing himself to a dog, especially with Aunt Marge’s words of _“i_ _f there's something wrong_ _with the_ _bitch_ _, then_ _there’_ _ll be_ _something wrong_ _with the_ _pup_ _”_ ringing around his mind. Even the memory of it had him trembling with rage. He would have to be careful to not let his magic get out of control this time. He definitely didn’t need to get in trouble with the Ministry and potentially get blasted all over the Daily Prophet like last time.

Harry wanted to avoid being the center of attention if he could help it. He knew that it wouldn’t be that simple, however, nor could it be helped in certain situations. He planned to wear a hat to cover his scar when he went to Diagon Alley. He also thought of Tonks and her metamorphmagus ability. As far as he knew, growing out one’s hair wasn’t something all wizards could do without a potion or a spell. Maybe he had some latent metamorphmagus genes? He would tangle with the idea later and try to get some books on it when he went shopping.

Shopping should also be interesting since Harry knew most of the information from before, and he had come across a lot of interesting things that he wanted to learn more about. Perhaps he should be a studious Ravenclaw this time? It would not only help him in the long run, especially if he was to become a criminal again, but it was also _fascinating._

 _I’m turning into Hermione,_ Harry mused. He didn’t feel much horror at the idea, however. Maybe the brunette’s habits had rubbed off on him...


	3. the hidden letter

****Chapter Two** **

the hidden letter

* * *

Harry had taken to doing his chores as quickly as possible to escape the house. Dudley’s gang was over every day since school had let out and Harry hadn’t been able to escape the punches this time. There were always five people against him, all big and stupid like Dudley. Of course, Dudley was the largest of the lot, and his aunt and uncle did nothing to diffuse the situation.

The thought of them encouraging Dudley’s violent tendencies had Harry’s lip curling in disgust. It was disgusting to see them acting this way against him, especially since he was rather small and malnourished. Not to mention the lies that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had spun and weaved to make him believe that his parents were jobless good-for-nothing freaks that died in a car crash due to his father’s drunken habits.

Even Draco Malfoy didn’t act that repulsive.

Harry avoided the Dursleys as much as he could during his wait for his birthday. But, when Aunt Petunia took Dudley to get his school uniform for Smeltings, Harry wasn’t allowed to go to the park. Uncle Vernon had mentioned something about seeing how any self-respecting young man should look. Harry hadn’t really been listening, too annoyed that he wasn’t allowed to go to the park.

Harry stood beside Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon as they had Dudley pose in his hideous uniform. _He really does look like a pig,_ he thought. _He’s even got some straw to match._

Harry forced an indifferent mask onto his face at the thought as he eyed up the straw had on Dudley’s fat head. Not to mention the red tailcoat, which might have looked well enough on someone else, that was paired with the ugly burnt orange of his knickerbockers that made his legs look fatter than they already were. Harry made a mental note to remember this image for later when he was about Boggarts again. It would be hilarious to imagine whatever the monster was now in the Smeltings uniform.

He hid a snicker at the thought as Aunt Petunia promptly burst into tears, looking at Dudley’s pictures. “Oh, my boy!” she cried. “You look so handsome and all grown up!”

She rushed over to hug Dudley and Harry saw Uncle Vernon wipe a tear out of his eye. Harry rolled his eyes discreetly.

“This is the proudest moment of my life!” Uncle Vernon said proudly as he puffed out his chest. Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing. It felt like his ribs were going to burst from the exertion to keep still. A hand suddenly thudded down on Harry’s shoulder, making him wince unconsciously and forget his laughter. He looked up into Uncle Vernon’s eyes, afraid that the man caught his mirth.

Instead, Uncle Vernon just smiled in a way that made his mustache wrinkle rudely and he gestured at Dudley, who was parading around again, this time with his Smeltings baton.

“Look at that, boy!” Uncle Vernon said. “This is how a man should look. Nothing like your freak of a father. I highly doubt that he even finished his schooling, being unemployed and all. And a drunk on top of that.”

Harry’s laughing mood was completely drained and his eyes flashed with fury. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from spouting something stupid, like the fact that his father had been rich and had been excellent at school, thank you very much. Despite knowing that nothing they said was true, and Uncle Vernon was simply making a mockery of him and his father that he looked all too like, Harry felt the anger and indignation continue to rise.

He stamped it down as well as he could. _Dad wasn’t a drunk. He was one of the best wizards there ever was. He graduated from Hogwarts with Outstandings on his N.E.W.T.S. And he was even Head Boy!_

Knowing that Uncle Vernon was watching him closely for any type of reaction, he simply offered the most pleasant expression he could conjure up. “Oh, will I be going to Smeltings, then?” he asked despite already knowing the truth.

Uncle Vernon simply sneered in a very Snape-like manner. “Of course not!” he said hauntingly. “Smeltings is only for the best of boys. You’ll be going to,” he sniffed, “Stonewall High.”

Harry simply nodded and left it at that. The next day, Harry hadn’t bothered to ask about the disgusting attempt at potion brewing his aunt was doing with Dudley’s old clothes.

Uncle Vernon and Dudley came in, large noses wrinkling at the stench the kitchen sink emitted. This was all just in time for the mail to come in and Harry’s heart jumped, remembering what today was.

He stayed sitting at the table, stomach too full of nerves to bother to eat.

“Well, what are you doing, boy?” Uncle Vernon snarled. “Go get the post!” Harry strictly reminded himself not to seem eager and he instinctively dodged the Smeltings stick as Dudley waved it at him.

He grinned widely as he spotted the familiar large yellowed parchment with emerald green ink that stared up at him. He looked back at the kitchen but Dudley’s large form was blocking everyone’s view from him. On his way past his cupboard, Harry slipped the letter through the slats, continuing forward as if nothing happened.

Harry just about managed to school his expression when Aunt Petunia’s horse-like face poked out from the kitchen doorway.

“Anything interesting?” she sniffed, eyes watching him suspiciously. It was almost like she had expected something. Harry simply shook his head, hiding the narrowing of his eyes. Aunt Petunia wasn’t expecting his Hogwarts letter, was she? She hadn’t expected it last time, he thought.

“No, Aunt Petunia,” he lied easily. “Just a bill and a post-card from Aunt Marge.”

Uncle Vernon snatched the post from his hands as he passed and Harry ignored it, simply sitting at his practically empty plate. All that was on it was an egg and a slice of toast.

He ate slowly as Uncle Vernon moaned about his sick sister. Harry thought about Aunt Petunia’s suspicion about the mail. She had never really been interested in it and left the bills to Vernon. The only thing she only ever received was her monthly subscription to some home care magazine.

Feeling eyes on him, Harry looked up. Aunt Petunia was staring at him with narrowed eyes. She set down her cutlery and stood, heading toward the hallway. Uncle Vernon and Dudley didn’t bother to ask where she was going, too busy discussing the proper way to hit someone with a Smeltings stick.

Harry watched as the woman sped walked to the front door. She opened it and looked around before shutting it, turning back around. Harry ducked back behind Dudley and swiftly dropped his hands behind his back. He watched as Aunt Petunia approached his cupboard and he suddenly _knew_ that she suspected that he had gotten his letter.

Hands under the edge of his shirt, Harry summoned the letter, right as Aunt Petunia opened the cupboard door. Harry turned his attention away from his aunt, feeling the heft of the letter in his hands. He tucked it half into the waist of his pants and let his shirt do the rest of the hiding. He was suddenly glad that most of his clothes were many sizes too big. No one would be able to spot the letter hiding under his clothes unless they pulled the back of his shirt up.

Focusing back on his breakfast, Harry ate with an air of innocence, ignoring the glances Aunt Petunia periodically sent him.

Harry had a week until his birthday and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to wait that long to properly read his letter. This was the first one. The _original_ one. Something in him wanted to keep it, to possibly frame it one day or to maybe shove the address in Dumbledore’s face. The last thought seemed rather rude considering what the man had done for him, considering that he had _died_ for him (or had it been for the cause?).

But, Harry reasoned, Dumbledore had been the one to take him to the Dursleys in the first place, claiming some bullshit excuse about blood wards and his mother’s sacrifice. Harry had been too emotional about learning that his mother had let herself die for him the first time to take notice of Dumbledore’s wording. It was familial _love_ that protected him. And what the Dursleys felt for him sure as hell hadn’t been, and currently wasn’t, _love._

And even if such wards existed (he would have to find a book on wards, particularly blood wards, to look at later), what protection did they offer him? If they were supposed to protect him against danger, then why the hell didn’t it blast Uncle Vernon to smithereens when he first struck him?

“Boy!” Aunt Petunia said sharply, making Harry’s head jerk up. He blinked swiftly to clear the cobwebs and he noticed that Uncle Vernon’s and Dudley’s seats were empty, their plates abandoned on the table, clear of scraps.

“Yes, Aunt Petunia?” he asked, voice quiet from where his thoughts had turned.

“I _said_ , go out and weed the gardens and cut the grass,” she hissed. Harry nodded without complaint and slid from his chair, hand reaching grabbing his plate.

A bony hand wrapped around his wrist and Harry jerked, staring up at his aunt with wide surprised eyes. The grip she had on him stung as she dug her perfectly manicured nails into his own particularly bony wrist. Aunt Petunia’s eyes were narrowed, the suspicion back in her eyes.

“If I learn that you’re keeping something a secret, boy, I’ll find out. You understand, freak?” Harry adopted a confused expression as he nodded. “I said, do you understand?” she asked again, more sharply.

Harry winced as a show when Aunt Petunia squeezed his wrist once in effect to the words, sharp nails cutting into his skin, and he said, “Yes, Aunt Petunia, I understand.”

She continued to stare at him for a few more seconds before dropping her hand and nodding to herself. Harry suddenly felt like he did under Voldemort’s gaze when he proceeded to grab and clean his cousin’s and uncle’s plates. He mentally scoffed at himself. Comparing this woman to Voldemort? Stupid. She didn’t even begin to _touch_ the things that man had done and will be doing.

Now assured that his aunt’s new behavior wasn’t getting to him, Harry swiftly wiped the plates clean and returned them to their proper places before skittering out the back door. He could feel Aunt Petunia’s eyes on him until he was out of sight.

Harry’s heart finally began to slow now that the woman wasn’t giving him a death stare. He wondered why he was so affected by it and he supposed it had to do with not wanting her to punish him for getting the letter. Or for worse, hiding it. He shuddered at the thought of the beating he would get if his aunt and uncle found out. He wondered if it would have been a good idea to simply let actions take their course, if only for this particular event.

 _Well, nothing I can do about it now,_ Harry thought, giving himself another mental shake as he headed toward the shed in the corner of the backyard to get the mower. Occasionally, the back of his neck would prickle and Harry would glance at the house from the corner of his eye. While his glasses didn’t do much in the way of seeing finer details (he really needed to get a new prescription), he could still see Aunt Petunia’s golden hair shimmering in the light like a Golden Snitch.

He smiled at the thought of the tantrum the woman would have if he told her that her hair glinted in the sunlight much like a magical ball with wings did.

This left him in higher spirits as he continued to mow, and then rake, the lawn. Even the sun beating down on him and causing him to sweat heavily didn’t damper his thoughts much. His thoughts were now on Quidditch.

Should he leave what happened on his first flying lesson alone? Harry was sure that he would be accepted if he participated in the Quidditch tryouts.

It was nearing the afternoon when he managed to finish weeding the garden. He hadn’t dared to use magic to uproot any weeds that had sprouted like he had been doing for the past month. Thus, it took almost twice as long to weed not only the backyard gardens but the ones in front, as well.

The heat was starting to affect him then and Harry rushed to the back of the house to take a sip from the hose and possibly wash up with it. He recalled the letter still in his pants, though, and decided to put that thought off for now.

Aunt Petunia wandered outside as he was soothing his parched throat and Harry swiftly turned the water off, dropping the hose. She wrinkled her nose at his obviously sweaty appearance before nodding inside.

“Go take a proper shower, freak. I won’t have you bathing outside where the neighbors can see you.” Harry thanked her and rushed to his cupboard to get a clean pair of clothes. He didn’t attempt to remove the letter from his pants since he could feel Aunt Petunia’s eyes on him. Instead, he simply balled up his clean clothes and rushed to the bathroom to shower, locking the door behind him.

Harry straightened out the letter and cleaned it of any sweat or smudges with a quick spell before wrapping it in his dirty clothes. He showered quickly, this time using cool water because he wanted to, and he swiftly changed into his clean clothes.

When he got to his cupboard, Harry swiftly wedged the letter between a beam right above the cupboard door entrance. That would be difficult to spot.

  
  


Over the next week, Harry took every measure he could to hide his letter. Once, after returning from the park, he had spotted Aunt Petunia rifling through his cupboard. After asking what she was looking for, Harry has preceded to mention that any of the cleaners she wanted were either under the kitchen or bathroom sinks. That event had stopped her from doing it again. Well, at least when he was around.

Harry had been accosted by his uncle moments later for _daring_ to say his aunt had been trying to steal from him and had then tried to lie about it. Uncle Vernon left welt marks along Harry’s back by the time he finished teaching him his lesson about accusing anyone of lying. This had reminded Harry about the _“I must not tell lies”_ incident with Umbridge.

Harry knew that Aunt Petunia was still poking through his things, however, but seeing as he didn’t want to cause any more trouble (or risk another whipping with the belt, this time possibly with the buckle end), he left it alone. His letter had long since been moved to a better hiding spot anyway.; a loose floorboard in the shed where no one but him entered.

The morning of his eleventh birthday arrived with Dudley jumping down the stairs, yelling obnoxiously as dust and spiders rained on Harry. Harry simply flicked them off, dressed, and left his cupboard.

Harry reflected on what had happened his previous birthday, and the week that had led up to it. Uncle Vernon had gone positively mad at the face of magic letters and people spying on them and had locked them in the house, and when the letters kept coming, he had dragged them across the country, the letters following them all the way. Harry thought of Hagrid and how they had first met. Then his thoughts turned to the Philosopher's Stone. He wasn’t quite sure what he was going to do about that. He supposed that he might just do what he did last year. Perhaps he could tell Professor Dumbledore that he had a dream about an amber stone being taken from a room with a mirror in it by someone who had a face on the back of his head. He could also mention that his scar burned every time he was in Professor Quirrell’s class.

It was only out of habit that Harry managed to avoid Dudley waving his Smeltings stick, Dudley crowing a false “Happy Birthday, freak!” at him. Harry rolled his eyes and took over breakfast duty from Aunt Petunia as he usually did.

As he was eating his bacon, Aunt Petunia remarked, “We’re going out for the day. I don’t want to see you near the house till dark. That’ll be your gift this year.” Harry simply nodded, somewhat surprised. Considering what he could remember of the previous “gifts” the Dursleys had given him, this one was quite possibly the best. Harry thanked her and she just turned her nose up at him.

Harry finished his breakfast swiftly (as he usually did considering the meager amount) and looked up at his aunt and uncle.

“Can I leave now?” he asked. Uncle Vernon simply sneered at him and Aunt Petunia nodded. Harry washed his plate quickly and to avoid suspicion, left through the front door.

He took a quick walk around the neighborhood to not seem as if he was up to no good, and when he made the loop back to the house, he waited a few more minutes before creeping into the backyard and then into the shed to collect his letter.

Glee bubbled up in him at the sight of his letter sitting in his hands, looking as it did when it had just been delivered. There was not a single speck of dirt or smudged ink on it.

Harry only just about managed to contain himself and he slipped the letter under his shirt. Call him paranoid, but Harry wasn’t going to let _anyone_ take this letter from him this time around.

Despite the paranoia, the walk to the park was quite pleasant. The storm that had happened the previous night seemed mild to the one he experienced the first time around, and while the grass was covered in dew, the sun was out and smiling down at him.

Arriving at his usual isolated bench, Harry looked around just in case people were too close to him (there weren’t) before casting a quick-drying charm. He then sat, legs crossed over one another, in the center of the bench. He ignored the flare of pain in his back as he leaned against the bench. The welts from a few days ago were still giving him some grief, but considering that it was his birthday and he had his Hogwarts letter, Harry didn’t care.

He stared down at the elegant green scrawl on the front of the letter with a sense of excitement even though he knew what the contents were. It didn’t matter, he finally, _finally_ , was going to be able to read his Hogwarts letter. His first, and original, letter, for that matter.

“Anyone sitting here?”

Harry jolted in surprise, mentally cursing himself for not watching his surroundings. He turned to face the owner of the voice, only to stop, eyes widening in surprise. His breath caught in his throat at the sight of the man standing only a meter away. While the man’s hair was barely streaked with gray and he didn’t look as stressed out ( _or dead_ , his mind whispered), Harry would recognize the man anywhere.

Remus Lupin.

Remus was currently looking at him in concern. The only thing Harry could do was stare at him, his thoughts whirring a mile a minute. What was Remus doing here? How was he here? Did he come to see him? Did Remus even know it was him?

 _Of course, he does,_ his mind supplied. _Everyone who my dad would immediately recognize me, if only by my hair._

Harry continued to stare at the werewolf. Remus was dressed in a pair of worn gray slacks and a button-down. His usual brown jacket, riddled with holes from what Harry could see, was folded over his arms.

“Cu-Kid?” Harry blinked and cleared the cobwebs from his mind. Remus looked especially worried now. Harry’s face began to burn and he swiftly moved to the end of the bench, leaving the other side for Remus to sit on.

Remus took the offered seat and spared a smile toward Harry, the silver lines marring his face crinkling up slightly.

“Sorry, sir,” Harry said sheepishly when he realized that he was staring. He looked down at his hands and wondered why this was so awkward. He _knew_ Remus. He _knew_ what the man looked like. It didn’t matter that he looked younger now, despite the fact that the man had sported a few gray hairs in his third year.

“It’s alright,” Remus said, seeming content to just sit there. “I’m Remus Lupin.” The man offered a hand and Harry took it with a small smile, marveling at the warmth it emitted.

“Harry,” he introduced. “Harry Potter.” Harry then retrieved his hand and fiddled with his Hogwarts letter.

“What’s that?” Remus asked, easily spotting it.

“Erm, I don’t really know,” Harry lied. “I got it in the mail. The wax seal is cool, though.” A thought suddenly struck him and he turned the letter so the purple wax Hogwarts crest was facing down. That left his address, perfectly visible upon the crisp parchment, facing up.

From the corner of his eye, he spotted the werewolf tense. Harry knew then that the man had spotted the address, particularly the “Cupboard under the Stairs” part.

Remus casually leaned over for a better look at the parchment envelope. “‘Cupboard under the stairs’?” he read aloud. “Why does it say that?” Harry had to hand it to Remus, the man was a good actor. He sounded perfectly polite and curious.

“Oh, that’s where I sleep,” Harry said nonchalantly, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. To Remus, however, it was obviously a big deal. Still, the man was tense and looked to be reining in his growing anger.

“Don’t you have a bedroom?” Remus asked, probably wanting to know more information about his home life before assuming things.

Harry shrugged again, trying to appear unconcerned as he answered, “That _is_ my room. Aunt Marge sleeps in the guest room when she comes round for a visit and Dudley has his second one because he has so much stuff. The cupboard’s fine, though. I’ve been sleeping in it since I was a baby.”

Remus was very still now and Harry was beginning to question whether or not he had taken this too far, if he should have just left it alone. If he should have shrugged off Remus’s questions and played shy in the presence of a stranger. However, a small part of him wanted someone to _see_ and _acknowledge_ what the Dursleys had been doing to him for all these years. Remus, very slowly, nodded.

“Okay,” he said, voice strained. “Well, aren’t you going to open your letter? It looks pretty important.” Part of Harry was disappointed that Remus dropped the subject but another part of him was relieved. Talking about his aunt and uncle had begun to make him nervous and the werewolf had probably sensed that.

“Do you know what it is?” Harry asked as he flipped the letter, and very carefully, pulled the wax away from the parchment.

“Can I see?” Harry handed the empty envelope to Remus and looked at the actual letter. “Oh, yes,” Remus said, his voice sounding calmer than a few minutes before. “I retrieved one of these when I was younger.” He ran a calloused thumb over the wax seal gently.

Harry began to read the letter. “Wait--” he said, blinking at the page in perfectly displayed confusion. “Does this say ‘Hogwarts School of _Witchcraft_ and _Wizardry_ ’?”

“Yes,” Remus said with a kind smile. “It does.”

“But--!” Harry cut himself off.

“But…?”

Harry leaned toward Remus, and after looking around himself as if he was suspicious of someone overhearing him, he whispered, “But my aunt and uncle told me magic isn’t real.” He’d already let it loose that he was forced to sleep in a cupboard from toddler-hood, so he might as well lay it on thick.

Remus simply nodded, though Harry could see the way the man’s golden-brown eyes flashed a brighter gold for just a second. “Most muggles think that, sadly,” Remus said, and at Harry’s confused look, he added, “Muggles are people without magic.”

“B-But, I don’t have magic!” he spluttered, widening his eyes. “I _don’t_!” he insisted, making it appear as if he was afraid at the thought. “I-I-I’m not a _freak_!”

“Harry!” Remus said, laying a hand on his shoulder. Harry flinched slightly but Remus only gripped his shoulder tighter. “Look at me. You are _not_ a freak, alright? Whoever told you that is wrong.”

“But-but--” Harry cut himself off at a stern look from Remus. He lowered his voice. “How can I be a, a _wizard_?”

Remus leaned back and removed his hand from Harry’s shoulder. Unconsciously, Harry followed the contact for a moment before catching himself and leaning back in embarrassment. _Why_ did he just follow Remus’s hand like a touch-starved puppy?

“Your parents were wizards,” Remus said kindly, voice soft as Harry blinked at him.

“My parents?” Harry whispered, voice soft and shaking. Remus’s eyes softened and Harry felt a flash of guilt rush through him before he shoved it away.

“Yes,” Remus said, voice just as soft as his expression. “I was really good friends with your dad. James Potter.”

Harry’s eyelashes fluttered away tears as a sudden wave of emotion ran over him. He didn’t know why he was reacting this way. Harry already knew this. He already knew that Remus knew his dad, so why didn’t hearing the man say that he was friends with him made him feel all weepy?

“Oh,” Harry said, still blinking away the emotions. “Was he… Were they...?”

“A witch and a wizard?” Remus finished. Harry nodded and the man smiled again, this time somewhat sadly. “They were. And they were really good ones, too.”

“Were they?” Harry found himself asking. He was honestly curious. He knew some things about his dad due to Sirius, and while Remus had shared a few details here and there, Harry still didn’t know much about them. His mum in particular. All he knew was that she was a Muggle-born and was particularly good at charms.

Remus nodded. “Your mother had a knack for charms, a type of spell, and your dad was really good at transfiguration. That’s the act of turning one thing into another,” he explained.

Harry nodded and looked down at his letter. “Did they go to this school, Hogwarts, then?” he asked.

Again, Remus nodded. “Yes. I went there, too. I was in your dad’s year and we shared a dorm.” Harry nodded and looked down at his letter, swiftly reading through it before turning to the list of supplies.

“I haven’t any money,” he said softly. Remus’s sharp hearing picked up the words easily, however.

“You do, actually,” Remus said, breathing slowly. “Your parents left quite the fortune to you. You’ll be able to get it at Gringotts; the wizarding bank. Right now, since you’re underage, you’ll only be able to access the trust fund they set up. But when you’re seventeen, you’ll be able to take a look at the Potter family’s vault.”

Harry didn’t need to pretend to be surprised. This was the first time he had ever heard of a trust fund being set up. It was also the first time he had ever heard of a separate vault. A Potter’s family vault, apparently.

Eager to know more, Harry inquired, “Potter family fault?”

“The Potters, your family on your dad’s side, are an old family. It would only make sense that you’d have a family fault full of fortune.” Harry nodded and didn’t prod further. He suspected that Remus didn’t know much about vaults in Gringotts. That would be something to ask the goblins about when he went shopping later on.

“Say, Remus, where am I supposed to get all this stuff?” Harry brandished the item list. Remus’s answering grin was bright.

“Diagon Alley."


	4. telling the dursleys

**Chapter Three**

telling the dursleys

* * *

“Can we go now?” Harry asked, eyes lighting up after he listened to Remus explain what Diagon Alley was.

Remus shook his head. “Isn’t it your birthday, Harry?” he said, making Harry beam at him since he knew. “Doesn’t your aunt and uncle have anything planned?” Harry scoffed and shook his head.

“No. I usually just do chores as usual,” he said, shrugging. He then looked over the letter and pointed at a line. “What does it mean, ‘We await your owl’?”

Remus, who obviously noticed the subject change by the twitch in his expression, answered, “You’re supposed to let them know that you’re going to be attending.” He frowned then. “The school usually has one of the professors visit and deliver the letters personally if one of the new students is from a Muggle family. I don’t understand why they didn’t have anyone deliver the letter to you since Dumbledore knows that you grew up with Muggles.”

Harry frowned too. He actually was curious about that and it made sense. No Muggle would actually believe the letter and they would think it to be a prank, but if an actual witch or wizard was there to prove it to them, then they would (hopefully) accept that fact.

And didn’t everyone know he was raised by Muggles? Or did Dumbledore just expect his aunt to tell him all about the magical world? He snorted at the thought. Aunt Petunia teaching him the difference between a Galleon and a Knut? Yeah right.

“I didn’t think of that,” Harry admitted. “The Dursleys _hate_ magic. They once freaked out on me when I told them I had a dream about a flying motorbike.” Remus looked at Harry in surprise and he suddenly remembered that the motorbike was actually Sirius’s. Hagrid had delivered him to Privet Drive with it after his parents died.

“They don’t like magic?” Remus asked instead of commenting on the motorbike.

“Not at all. They don’t even like me saying the word, at all,” Harry said, leaning toward Remus and as if he was saying a secret, whispered, “They call it the ‘m-word’.”

Remus snorted. “Do you think your guardians are going to let you attend Hogwarts?”

Harry looked down at the parchment in his hands and remembered how adamant Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had been about not letting him attend the school the first time around. He could distinctly remember Uncle Vernon calling Professor Dumbledore a “crackpot old fool.” He hid a smirk at the memory and how Hagrid had given Dudley a pig's tail for eating his birthday cake. Too bad that wasn’t going to happen this time.

“I think they’ll do everything in their power to stop me from going,” Harry said seriously. “Aunt Petunia already dyed my ‘uniform’ for Stonewall High.” He rolled his eyes. The kitchen smelled worse than dung bombs.

“Uniform?” Remus asked dubiously, eyebrow raised.

“She dyed Dudley’s old clothes gray. They’re five sizes too big and looked like wrinkled elephant skin. That was a week ago and the kitchen still kinda smells like something rotted in there,” Harry said, smiling wryly.

Remus wrinkled his nose at the pretty picture he painted. “I suppose I’ll have to speak with them,” he said, leaning back against the bench as he thought aloud. “You need to get an education and while the Dursleys are your guardians, they don’t seem to be doing a very good job of it. They have no right to stop you from attending Hogwarts. I should send Dumbledore an owl and tell him that I’m going to take you to Diagon Alley for your school shopping. He shouldn’t refuse considering you need to pick up your school books and your uniform.”

Harry stared at Remus in surprise. The man was actually thinking this through. Very un-Gryffindorp-like, but then again, that’s how the man was. In his timeline, he was, anyway.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Remus said at the surprised look. “You have every right to go to the school your parents went to. It’s also dangerous if you don’t get any proper control over your magic. If you are forced to hide your magic, particularly through psychological or physical abuse, it can fester inside you to the point where you either die, or it’s unleashed, causing extensive harm to the environment around you.”

Harry stared up at Remus in surprise. Something like that could have happened to him? He could have died due to the way his aunt and uncle treated him, and yet he had been forced to live with them for years?

“You’ve experienced accidental magic, yes?” Remus continued. “Anything that happened that’s not exactly ‘normal’?”

“I teleported onto the school roof once,” Harry admitted, much to Remus’s surprise. “Dudley and his gang were chasing me and cornered me near the school kitchens and one second I was being cornered near the dumpsters and then I was on the roof. I ended up being locked in my cupboard for a week.”

“You must have been feeling strong emotions to be able to apparate like that,” Remus said, frowning. “Did Dudley get punished for chasing you?”

Harry snorted and rolls his eyes. “Dudley’s _never_ punished, not even when he hits me.” Remus narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything, Harry asked, “What’s ‘apparating’?”

“It’s what muggles call teleporting,” Remus explained. “Usually, you have to have a license for it and take an exam. You have to seventeen to get them, which is when witches and wizards reach adulthood in the wizarding world, rather than eighteen in the muggle one.

“Does it hurt?” Harry asked, wondering if Remus would mention splinching.

The werewolf shook his head. “Not usually. You’re taught to focus on your location and then you should apparate there. The exams usually have people teleporting from one spot in a room to another, however, I’m not sure if that’s how they still do them. It is quite dangerous, however, if you don’t know what you’re doing. You could end up splinching yourself so bad that you can lose a limb. Other than that, you’re usually quite nauseous afterward in the beginning. The first time I side-apparated with her I ended up puking on her shoes.”

Harry snorted a laugh and Remus grinned good-naturedly at him.

“What about my parents?” Harry asked suddenly. “How did my mum and dad fare when then did it?”

Remus smiled sadly at him. “I wasn’t there the first time James apparated, but I ended up watching him fall over once. Your mother was a natural of it, surprisingly. She was a Muggleborn, meaning that her parents, your grandparents, were muggles. She was the first one to get her license in class. She never bragged, though.”

“No?” Harry asked, curious about his mother. Sirius, despite knowing much about his dad, hadn’t really told him much about his mother. The only thing he really knew about her was that she was rather good at Charms and had the same green eyes he did.

“Not really,” Remus replied. “Your dad was a bragger, though. He loved to pull pranks on others, but sometimes I think he went too far. I think he gave your mother a sweet on the train to Hogwarts that made her hair fall out. It grew back after a few minutes, but your mother never really let it go.”

Harry frowned. “He sounds like a bully,” he said disapprovingly. “I don’t like bullies.” Remus smiled sadly at him.

“He kind of was,” he admitted, much to Harry’s surprise. “I don’t think your father really meant to do some of the things he did but he sometimes took his pranks too far. If only he had told Lily after he pulled the prank that her hair would grow back to how it was before, they probably wouldn’t have spent their first six years at Hogwarts fighting.”

“You said you were friends with him,” Harry said slowly, “so why did you let him take things to far?” Remus sighed and leaned back, looking up as the canopy waved slightly due to the wind.

“You could say that I was afraid,” Remus said quietly. “I never had any friends before meeting your father and I guess I just didn’t want to be alone again. I did my best to prevent James and Sirius from doing some harmful pranks, but some managed to slip through.” Remus turned quiet and somber and Harry remembered the pranks that his father had done on Snape. He had not only almost gotten him killed by Remus, but he had also humiliated him by leaving him dangling upside down in the air.

“Who’s Sirius?” Harry asked before he could stop himself. He winced at the grimace on Remus’s face and he cursed himself for asking the question.

“He was another friend,” Remus said curtly, making it clear that that was the end of the conversation.

“What kind of pranks did dad pull?” Harry asked, choosing a lighter topic. He had probably heard most of the stories, but he wanted to take Remus’s mind off of Sirius. It also occurred to him that asking about pranks probably also brought back memories and it made him wince again. Before he could backtrack, however, Remus slouched down and looked relatively less burdened by his misplaced anger and grief.

“Well, there was this time that he turned Professor McGonagall’s hair orange...”

The rest of the afternoon went past relatively quickly as Harry listened to the adventures the Marauders went on. He was also pretty pleased with the information Remus disclosed of his mother. Lily had been a studious student in school and had not only been Prefect in her fifth and sixth years, but she had also been Head Girl with his dad as Head Boy.

It made Harry wonder if he should try to become Prefect or Head Boy this time around but the thought made him grimace. As much as he liked teaching the DA, the responsibilities that the Prefects and Head Boy had were too much. They also interfered with his plans for the rest of his schooling. Harry was intent on changing things for the better this time around.

He was _not_ going to let anybody die this time.

“Can you take me to Diagon Alley tomorrow?” Harry asked Remus suddenly. Remus, who had been in the middle of an explanation of some of the shops in Diagon Alley was, blinked at him.

“I suppose,” Remus said, rubbing his chin in thought. “I still have to owl the Headmaster, however, and I’ll need to speak with your aunt and uncle.”

“They wouldn’t let me go,” Harry said bluntly, scowling at his letter. He had gone over the list of items he needed and after some false questions to not seem as if he knew everything, Lupin had explained what such-and-such was and where to get them. He was itching to get back to Diagon Alley. The last time he had seen it, it had been half-destroyed and most of the shop owners had boarded up their shops and left. He just needed to see that for himself.

And he wanted some Florean Fortescue’s ice cream, dammit.

Lupin sighed. “Even if they won’t personally take you, you’d still have to gather your books. I’d also like to speak with them about your current… bedroom.”

“Why don’t you show them the letter front?” Harry suggested. “It could make them believe that they’re being watched. They can get pretty... suspicious sometimes.” Harry remembered when he had been taken to the grocers a few weeks ago with Aunt Petunia to help and a man that was obviously “playing Muggle” had come up to him and shaken his hand. Aunt Petunia had interrogated him in the car on the way home, asking if he had known the man.

Remus frowned and lifted a brow at him. Harry just simply smiled up at him mischievously and the man sighed. “Would it help?” he asked. Harry nodded fervently and Remus sighed again.

“Well, then, Harry,” he said, standing from the bench, “let’s go have a chat with your aunt and uncle, shall we?” Harry glanced up at the sky. It was just beginning to darken and he could see pink turning into purple. That meant that it was late enough that they should be home by now.

“Okay!” Harry said, jumping off the bench and grabbing his letter. He made sure not to crinkle it even though he could easily spell it to its original condition. Now that he thought about it, it could be possible that the letters were resistant from any harm. Yes, that first time he had cleaned it from any sweat it had on it, but looking back on it, he couldn’t remember it having too much sweat on it. He then thought about how his uncle burned some of his previous letters. Perhaps they were spelled from accidental harm such as rain but not intentional harm like a parent ripping it up or burning it?

The walk back to Privet Drive was quiet and Harry suspected that Remus was thinking over everything he had said, specifically about his living situation. He had no doubt that Albus Dumbledore was going to get a very big letter detailing everything Remus learned today, also stating that Remus was going to take him shopping.

He wondered if Dumbledore was going to send someone to check on him or if the man was going to do it himself. That made him frown. He really wanted to spend the day with Remus tomorrow and he wasn’t willing to give up the new relationship he had with the man. Remus was, despite what anyone else thought, his uncle. Sure, he hadn’t been related to his father or mother, but he had been good friends with his dad, and apparently knew enough about his mom that he had spent some time around her.

“Did you see me when I was a baby?” Harry asked Remus, suddenly curious.

“I was the last of James’s friends to see you,” Remus revealed. “I had been a little… sick when you had been born. I was fine a few days afterward and then I got to hold you. Your… godfather had been the first after your mother and father to hold you...”

Remus’s words trailed off and his brows furrowed in thought. It made Harry wonder what he was thinking. _Most likely about Sirius,_ he thought, a pang of annoyance shooting through him. He really needed to find a way to get Sirius out of Azkaban. He really didn’t want to wait until his third year to free his godfather, but he may end up needing to.

Harry looked up and noticed that they were at Privet Drive. A car was in the drive so he knew that the Dursleys were home. He approached the house apprehensively, and instead of walking straight in, he waited for Remus to knock on the door. He fiddled with his letter again nervously as he heard someone, no doubt Uncle Vernon or Dudley, thundering down the hall.

The door was wrenched open, revealing the round pink mustached face of Uncle Vernon. His eyes narrowed and flickered from Remus’s shabby form to Harry’s scrawny one. Remus gave Uncle Vernon a pleasant smile.

“Hello,” he said. “My name is Remus Lupin. I was a friend of Harry’s father.” Harry mentally winced when Uncle Vernon’s mustache wrinkled and his eyes squinted, anger in his eyes. That was the wrong thing to say.

“Vernon, who is it?” Aunt Petunia’s voice came out from somewhere inside the house. He heard her walk up behind Uncle Vernon, who moved aside so she could see them.

“It’s one of those freaks,” he said, sneering at them. Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes at them and her eyes flicked toward the letter in Harry’s hands. Outrage coloured her face and she ripped the letter out of his hands.

“Hey!” he shouted on impulse, reaching toward the letter. Aunt Petunia held it out of his reach and stared down at it, her face almost immediately going white.

“V-Vernon!” she gasped, showing him the letter. “Oh my goodness, Vernon, _look_!”

“I believe that we should take this inside,” Remus smoothly cut in, stepping forward. Uncle Vernon, who currently had Harry’s letter in his hands, stumbled back. His face had turned a multitude of colors but it was currently settled on white. Harry followed Remus in and shut the door behind him, cutting off the gaze from their one nosy neighbor.

“How do you know where he sleeps?” Uncle Vernon roared, shaking the letter at Remus. A vein was bulging from his temple.

“I was not the one to send him that letter,” Remus said, his voice calm and quiet. Harry wondered how he was able to keep so quiet. He would have been trembling in fear if he hadn’t faced his uncle’s rage a dozen times since coming back. Of course, facing Voldemort helped, too. Remus hadn’t faced Voldemort nor his uncle’s rage before, though.

“Shall we sit down?” Remus continued, gesturing toward the sitting room.

“No, I will not sit down!” Uncle Vernon yelled. He shook the letter in his hand again. “How did the boy get this blasted letter? And how do they know where he sleeps?!”

“I got it in the mail,” Harry said calmly. Everyone’s gazes turned to him and Remus summoned the letter, tapping it with his wand to smooth out the creases. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia flinched at the sight of magic, the anger in Uncle Vernon’s face fading away.

“I knew it!” Aunt Petunia hissed at Harry. “I _told_ you not to keep secrets from me, boy!”

“It’s _my_ letter,” Harry stated firmly. “You would have thrown it out.”

“Harry,” Remus said, settling a hand on his shoulder before turning to the Dursleys. “I believe that we should sit down and talk this out.” Uncle Vernon’s face turned red but he led them all to the sitting room. He threw himself into his favorite chair, probably wishing that he had a glass of brandy in his hand.

“Now,” Remus said, taking a seat on the loveseat adjacent to the Dursleys. Harry perched on the edge of the seat, nervously looking at his aunt and uncle. The only furniture that he was allowed to sit on was the chairs to the dining table and the cot mattress in his cupboard. “I believe you have questions?”

“‘Questions’?” Uncle Vernon spluttered. “Of course we have questions!” Aunt Petunia placed a hand on Uncle Vernon’s arm and she gripped the fabric of his button-down.

“H-How do you know where he sleeps?” She asked, voice faint and shaking. “A-Are you watching the house?”

“ _I’m_ not watching the house,” Remus said calmly. Harry blinked when he stressed that he wasn’t the one watching the house. He hid a smile as his uncle’s face paled once again and he spared a glance at Remus. He was letting them come to conclusions that while he wasn’t the one watching the house, that some people might be. The only person Harry was aware that actually watched the house, however, was Mrs. Figg.

“And Harry simply told me that he sleeps in a _cupboard_ ,” Remus continued sharply. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon winced. “Now, would either of you like to tell me why his Hogwarts letter—”

“He’s not going to that school!” Uncle Vernon sneered, cutting Remus off. “We swore when we took him in that we would put a stop to this—this rubbish! That we’d stamp it out of him if we had to!” The gold in Remus’s eyes flashed and he stared Uncle Vernon down. Uncle Vernon may have been twice the size of Remus, but Harry had a feeling that even without his magic, Remus had the upper hand.

Uncle Vernon, clearly coming to the same conclusion, shrunk back into his chair. Or, as most as he could, anyway. Remus simply continued his statement, “Why was his letter, which _always_ titles the kid’s bedroom, claim that he sleeps in a _cupboard_?”

“There’s nowhere else to keep him,” Aunt Petunia sniffed, lifting her head to stare down her nose at them. Harry rolled her eyes at her attempt to be brave. In fact, it was just idiotic.

Remus also thought so if his unbelieving stare was anything to go buy. “Your son has _two_ rooms, Mrs. Dursley,” Remus said blandly. “And you have a guest room, as well.” Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia blanched before turning twin glared in Harry’s direction. All he did was shrink back minutely for show.

Remus lifted a hand to his back and Harry twitched at the shot of unexpected pain. He was used to ignoring the pain, and while talking to Remus, he had all but blocked it out. But Remus brushing against it brought it back. Harry tensed for a few seconds before relaxing. Remus had dropped his hand at the wince and his eyes were narrowed at the Dursleys in suspicion.

“Alright, then,” Aunt Petunia hissed. “He’ll get Dudley’s second bedroom.” Harry blinked. Just like that? They were giving him the second bedroom, _just like that_? No arguing, no spluttering, no denying?

“I’ll see that he gets settled in, then,” Remus said cooly while standing. Harry stood swiftly, as well, and his aunt and uncle followed. “And I’ll be returning tomorrow to take him to get his school things.”

“Well, we won’t be paying,” Uncle Vernon said snidely. His mustache wrinkled at Harry. “Good luck gathering the money to waste on him.” Uncle Vernon was no doubt doubting that Remus had any money considering the state of his clothes.

Remus didn’t bother to reply and headed into the hallway as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia began to talk in quiet voices. Remus could no doubt hear what they were saying but he bothered not to comment on it.

“Go ahead and grab any of your things, Harry,” Remus said, sneering in a very Snape-like manner at the cupboard.

Harry just shook his head. “I need new clothes, all of the ones I got are Dudley’s old ones. I can buy some tomorrow along with my robes.” Remus’s jaw clenched and he nodded. Harry led the way to the smallest bedroom in the house that sat on top of the stairs and nudged the door open.

All of the surfaces in the room were filled with old broken toys, some from old Christmases and birthdays, and some from Dudley’s recent birthday. Dudley’s month-old cine-camera sat on a toy tank that Harry distinctly remembered still worked because Dudley used it to run over the neighbor’s dog a few weeks ago. Various boxes of legos sat in a tub on the small desk, most likely with pieces missing. The only things that looked untouched were the shelves of books next to the desk.

There were other things in the room that had no significance and were most likely broken. Harry just walked over to the small twin bed and plopped down on it, dust jumping from the old bedspread.

Remus was looking around the room in disgust and Harry snickered, drawing the man’s attention. “Dudley can’t keep anything clean,” he said, shaking his head. “You should see his actual room when I haven’t cleaned it yet.” Remus’s expression soured and saddened.

“I’m sorry for the way they’ve treated you, Harry,” Remus said. “If I had been able to take you, I would have.”

“Why couldn’t you take me?” Harry asked Remus. “And _did_ you want to take me?” He couldn’t remember ever having a conversation with Remus about this.

“I’ve thought about it,” the werewolf said, staring down at his lap. “But I never would have been allowed to take you for multiple reasons. And trust me, Harry, I did. When I learned about your parents, and then Sirius, I wanted to take you. But Dumbledore had already brought you here and I bloody well couldn’t have kidnapped you.”

Harry nodded and didn’t ask why Remus couldn’t take him. Werewolves barely had any rights in the world and Remus wouldn’t have been able to make enough money to care for him properly. He frowned. Were the Dursley’s paid to take him? Did they receive monthly stipends from the government? That would be another thing to think about.

“I should probably help you clean this up,” Remus mused, looking around at the broken toys.

Harry shrugged. “Don’t bother. Dudley’ll probably claim some of it, if only not to let me have anything. He’ll practically clean up some of the mess for me.” _He was not going to be happy,_ Harry mused to himself.

“I suppose I should be going,” Remus said, looking at an old watch on his wrist. Harry wondered if it was a family heirloom and belonged to his father.

“You’ll be back tomorrow, right?” Harry said, looking into the man’s eyes for reassurance.

“Of course,” Remus replied, standing. “I should be here around noon at the earliest and three at the latest.” Harry nodded and, on impulse, threw his arms around Remus’s stomach. Remus hesitated for a moment before gently returning the hug. Harry was overcome with emotion and he tightened his grip on the man. The last time he had seen him, he had been dead and bloody.

“Thank you,” Harry said, the words muffled in the man’s coat. Remus ran a hand through his unruly hair.

“You’re welcome, Harry,” he said as Harry pulled away. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I promise.” Harry nodded and watched as the man left the room, closing the door behind him. Something slid down his cheek, and to his horror, Harry realized he was crying. He quickly wiped away the tears and sniffed.

Why the hell was he crying? It wasn’t like the man was going to up and disappear. He had sought him out because it was his birthday and he promised to take him to Diagon Alley. Harry pressed his hands to his eye and willed the tears to stop. After a few shuddered breaths, he wiped his tears on his shirt.

He jolted when he heard the door slam shut and realized that Remus must have spoken with the Dursleys before leaving. He swiftly removed any evidence of his crying when he heard Uncle Vernon thunder up the stairs and down the hall. He sat on the dusty duvet and flinched when the door was slammed open and banged against the door, no doubt putting a hole in the drywall.

Uncle Vernon’s ruddy face was twisted up into a scowl and he pointed a finger at him. “You are to stay in this room for the rest of the summer, you hear me, boy? I don’t want to even _see_ you when you’re not doing your chores. And I don’t want any funny business after you come back tomorrow!” Uncle Vernon then pulled the door shut, revealing that it did, in fact, leave a hole in the drywall.

Harry wondered what Remus must have said to him to make him not lay a hand on him. He had expected to get thrashed after the werewolf left but he supposed that he probably threatened Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia before that could happen. This amused Harry to no end when he thought about it. Yes, Remus threatening his aunt and uncle was bad, but he could only imagine their reactions. What if he told them he was a werewolf?

Harry’s stomach rumbled and he sighed. He wasn’t going to attempt anything tonight like his aunt and uncle most likely expected him to do. He could eat as much as he liked tomorrow, anyways. He salivated while thinking of Florean Fortescue’s ice cream. He was definitely going to get three scoops tomorrow if it was the last thing he did.

Harry looked around his new (for this timeline) room and he wrinkled his nose at the dust that was in the room and clinging to his skin. He waved his hand toward the door to lock it and placed a silencing spell on it before waving his hand at the room and the bed to remove all of the dust. He wasn’t allowed in this room often so he hadn’t had a chance to brush off any of the dust.

Deciding that he’d clean everything up tomorrow, Harry shucked his jeans, placed his glasses on the nightstand, and curled up under the duvet instead of transfiguring his clothes into pajamas. He had tried to transfigure one of his army men into a brush just to see if he could do it, but it had looked like something he tried to transfigure in his third year of school. He was going to have to practice more wandless magic later on if he wanted to gain an advantage over anyone who wanted to do him harm.

Another wave of his hand and the lightswitch flicked down, the lights turning off.

Harry woke up in the middle of the night dazed and with his heart flying out of his chest. His breathing was labored and his green eyes flickered around, catching the fuzzy forms of shadows. Images of a dead Remus flashed through his mind. Some were memories of the man lying on the stone floor in Hogwarts, and others were made-up images. In some of them, Harry saw Remus go down with a flash fo green. In others, the man was in pain.

His throat felt torn and Harry knew that he had been screaming. It hadn’t been the first time he woke up like this and he was glad that he almost always put a silencing spell around him when he was sleeping. The first night back, Harry had screamed so loud that Uncle Vernon had heard through his and Dudley’s thundering snoring.

Harry had been torn out of his cupboard, still fighting the effects of his nightmare, and he had accidentally hit Uncle Vernon. He had then been slammed into the wall and had been told to shut up and keep quiet or he would do it for him. Harry, still out of breath and dazed from the hit, had only nodded, not fighting when he was thrown back into his cupboard.

He had placed a silencing spell around the cupboard when Uncle Vernon had thundered back upstairs, telling Dudley to get back to his room and informing Aunt Petunia that “the brat was having a stupid bloody nightmare.” Harry had been locked in his cupboard as soon as he came home from school.

Rubbing a hand over his face, Harry sighed and lied back on his bed, curling up on his side as he stared out the window. He fell asleep sometime later.


	5. the return to diagon alley

**Chapter Four**

the return to diagon alley

* * *

Harry jolted up at a yell and rubbed his stinging eyes. He had woken up a few more times during the night and he was a little tired.

“No!” he heard Dudley yell. “It’s _my_ room!”

Harry sighed. So they were telling him about Harry commandeering his second bedroom, then. Not feeling like wearing the same pair of clothes twice a day, Harry summoned a pair and pulled them on. He tossed the old ones in a pile on the floor. He was simply going to vanish them when he got back with his new clothes. He did _not_ want to keep Dudley’s old rags.

Deciding to face the music, Harry dropped the silencing charm around the room and unlocked the door with a mental _Alohomora._ Dudley’s voice immediately got louder, and by the wet choking noise, he was faking to cry again. Harry mentally groaned. _Oh, poor Dudders! He has to get rid of his extra bedroom full of broken toys and books!_ Harry mentally mocked as he walked down the steps, unconsciously being silent due to years of walking like that.

“W-W- _Why_ does he have to get m-m-m- _my_ r-room?!” Dudley bawled loudly. Harry schooled the scowl from his face as he stepped into the room silently. He snorted at the picture in front of him. Aunt Petunia was rubbing her son’s back comfortingly and Uncle Vernon had a hand on Dudley’s shoulder.

“You already have a big room, Duddykins!” Aunt Petunia said. Dudley sniffed loudly and let out another false cry.

Uncle Vernon took another route with his consoling. “You won’t have a second room at Smeltings, Duddley,” he informed his son sternly. “And you’ll have to share it, too. This is just one way for you to learn some responsibility.”

That… had the opposite effect of what Uncle Vernon was likely going for.

Dudley stopped and stared at Uncle Vernon in horror. “You-You mean I have to _share_ a room?” he asked before wailing loudly. “No! I-I don’t want to sh-share my r-r-room!” Fat crocodile tears dripped down Dudley’s cheeks and Harry turned to the side and muffled another snort.

“Did you just laugh, boy?” Uncle Vernon roared. Harry froze as everyone’s attention was turned to him. Dudley’s pink face turned even redder at the sight of Harry and he pointed a rather fat finger in his direction.

“You stole my room!” he bellowed, pulling away from his hands and jumping in Harry’s direction.

Harry danced out of reach, shouting, “They gave it to me!”

Dudley made for him again and Harry expertly drew out of reach. “I didn’t tell them to!” he told Dudley.

“Quiet, boy!” Uncle Vernon yelled, taking a swipe at Harry. Just like with Dudley, Harry danced out of his uncle’s reach as well. Everyone glared at him and Harry stood against the kitchen counter.

Harry turned to Dudley. “Someone found out that I’ve been sleeping in a cupboard,” he told Dudley, deciding to turn his point-of-view around in a roundabout manner. “It’s either I sleep in your second room or your mother and father go to jail. And if they go to jail, you won’t get any more toys.”

Dudley stared at him appraisingly before turning to his mother and father. “Is he lying?” he demanded. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon glared nastily at Harry. “Could you go to jail?”

Instead of claiming something else, Aunt Petunia chose to follow along with Harry’s words, if only to get her son to shut up about Harry taking the room. She turned her nose up and said, “It’s possible. Of course, your freak of a cousin doesn’t even _deserve_ a cupboard, but that small room should do. And he’ll be gone most of the year, anyway. You’ll only have to deal with him during the summers.”

Dudley turned his mild glare in Harry’s direction. Harry, who had seen worse from Snape, simply stared back unfazed. “Fine!” he grumbled with a sneer before pointing at Harry. “I want my things, though!”

Harry nodded. He didn’t want any of Dudley’s stuff.

“You can take whatever you want,” Harry said. “I didn’t touch any of it last night. I’m going to keep whatever you leave over, though.” The warning made Dudley’s face turn pink for just a second before he nodded, seemingly content.

And so, instead of eating breakfast, and to his dismay, Harry was ordered to help Dudley carry all of his toys, broken or otherwise, into the boy’s much larger room. Harry simply put featherweight charms on the larger items and pretended that they were heavy. His back hurt enough as it was so he wasn’t about to add to it.

His stomach was clenching in hunger by the time Dudley deemed that he had all he wanted and Harry pushed most of the leftover stuff into the corner. He kept all of the books to read later, as well as some other knick-knacks. The cine-camera and the rifle were in the pile of trash, and Dudley had taken the remote-control tank, but Harry kept the rather large parrot cage for later use since it would fit an owl comfortably.

There was a set of decorative fountain pens and an inkwell, but after testing them out, Harry decided that he was going to take them to school with him. They would work if he found himself without a quill. They were much smaller and didn’t break easily, as well. They looked to be silver, and if Harry remembered quickly, silver was resistant to destructive spells. No one would be able to make them explode in his hands. It also made him wonder if he could do some sort of spell to link the biro and the inkwell so Harry didn’t have to dip it too often.

Along with the decorative pens, there was also a set of expensive-looking notebooks that Harry was definitely going to use for notes. He had found it difficult to use parchment for class notes since they were so hard to file properly. He was instead deciding that it would be better to use notebooks for class and parchment for assignments since essays typically had to be a certain inch-length.

Harry had only managed to get his bedroom into a semblance of order when Uncle Vernon’s voice roared, “Get down here, boy!”

Harry swiftly, after grabbing a hat from the dresser and putting it on, made his way down the stairs and grinned at Remus. “You’re early!” he said as a greeting. And it was true. The clock on the wall said half-past eleven; Remus had said that he would be there at noon at the earliest. Remus took a quick glance at his watch and smiled as well, the thin silver lines on his face crinkling just a bit.

“So I am,” he said before nodding toward the door. “Are you ready to go?”

“Yep!” Harry said, jumping down the last three stairs as Dudley often did. Uncle Vernon glared at him but didn’t say anything. Harry was _really_ curious as to what Remus had said to the man last night. The werewolf probably wouldn’t tell him what he said, though. But when he asked, the man answered, much to his surprise.

“I just asked them to be a little kinder to you,” Remus said, his lips twitching into a self-satisfied smirk that seemed a little out of place on him. Harry grinned widely at him.

“Must have been some conversation,” he hummed, following Remus down the road. He looked around, and as expected, didn’t see a car. “Hey, where _is_ Diagon Alley, anyway? And how are we gonna apparate there? You said yesterday that we need a license for it.”

“You are correct, but an adult can side-along apparate with a minor if they need to. There’s a pub called the Leaky Cauldron and it’s the only way you can get in. You can’t Apparate directly into the alley since it’s warded, and none of the shops have Floos that are directly connected to the network,” Remus said, his voice taking on the familiar tone he used when he had been (or was it will be?) the Defence professor at Hogwarts. “The Leaky Cauldron is almost always unseen by Muggles, but it’s not completely invisible to them, however. There’s a type of enhanced concealment charm on it, which means that it deflects the gaze or attention of Muggles. It may have a slight anti-Muggle on it, as well, since no one seems to come across the entrance. Only witches, wizards, or Squibs can see it, and on occasion, a Muggle who is a parent or sibling to a Muggleborn.”

Harry nodded, slightly fascinated. Hagrid had never bothered to inform Harry about what actually hid the Leaky Cauldron from Muggles and had simply said that it did. Hermione had never had the chance to go into much detail on it, as well. It had simply either never come up in conversation, or they had been worried too much about other things while there.

Remus stopped behind a wall and looked around, most likely to see if anyone was around. Harry startled when Remus suddenly placed his hand on his shoulder and fought down a blush at the unexpected reaction. Remus, however, didn’t comment on it. He only frowned, suspicion dancing in his eyes.

“I have to be touching you so you can side-along with me,” Remus informed him. “It’ll feel like a tug on your stomach and you’ll probably be ill afterward. Are you ready?” Harry swallowed nervously and nodded. He didn’t know how good at apparating Remus was, but his thoughts were suddenly occupied by Ron’s splinching.

“Yeah,” he croaked before clearing his throat and nodding. “Yeah, I’m ready.” Remus waited another second, probably to give him a chance to change his mind, before he felt the familiar tug at his navel.

Harry stumbled when his feet touched the ground but Remus’s strong grip kept him steady. Clenching his eyes shut, Harry breathed through his nose to fight back his nausea. After a few seconds, he opened his eyes and met Remus’s golden-brown ones.

“Are you okay?” he asked. Harry screwed his face up.

“That wasn’t pleasant,” he simply told the werewolf. Remus just smiled at him.

Harry looked around curiously and noticed that they were inside the Leaky Cauldron right next to the fireplace for the Floo. Remus steered him away from it before someone could stumble into them and led him toward the back door where the little courtyard sat. No one spared the two a glance. With Remus’s shabby clothes and Harry’s own ragged hand-me-downs, they looked like they could be related.

As they entered the courtyard, Harry looked up at Remus in confusion, remembering his first time here. “What are we doing here?” he asked the man. Remus, as an answer, pulled out his wand and tapped the brick that was three bricks up from the trash can and two across.

Harry allowed his mouth to drop open as the bricks began to twist away into a brick wall archway, revealing the amazing sight of Diagon Alley. Something in Harry relaxed at the sight of various people coming and going, children looking at shop windows, and parents rushing to get their children’s school supplies. Harry’s eyes itched and he blinked furiously to get rid of the tears.

Images of the alley desolate and worn-down from the war flashed through his mind and Harry couldn’t help but compare the sight to the one he saw now. All of the shops that had been turned into those for the Dark Arts were gone, none of the shops were boarded up, and no beggars stood in their doorways. Fortescue’s, which had been blown up some time, stood completely whole, children and teenagers sitting outside with slowly-melting bowls and cones of ice cream. And there, on the right, was a completely whole and unassuming building, with the words _Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 383 B.C._ above its door.

Harry stopped and stared, his breath hitching. The last time he had seen the shop it had been blown open, bits and pieces of wands and rubble covering the floor, its shelves plundered.

“Harry?” Harry shook his head to clear the cobwebs and schooled his expression when he looked at Remus.

“Sorry,” he said in a sheepish voice. “It’s just so _cool_ here.”

Remus nodded though he still appeared concerned. “Where to first?” Harry piped up before Remus could continue whatever line of thought he was thinking. Remus lifted a hand and gestured toward the most expensive-looking buildings in the alley, one that was completely marble and tall with large pillars beside a set of large solid bronze doors.

“Gringotts Wizarding Bank,” Remus said. “We’ve got to get you some gold before you can buy anything.” Harry nodded along as he was supposed to and together they dodged the crowd. No one sent him a second glance with the baseball cap covering the scar on his head and Harry blissfully welcomed the anonymity. This time there were no hands to shake nor were there people wishing for an autograph. Here, he was simply Harry, the assumed son of the shabby-looking man walking beside him.

A pair of goblins bowed to them as they passed the first pair of doors, and following Remus’s example, Harry bowed to them, as well. A set of familiar silver doors sat before them but Harry didn’t bother to read their inscription, the one that announced harm to any of those wishing to be a thief. Harry knew that too well.

He bowed to the next pair of goblins as they passed the doors and followed behind Remus timidly, watching as goblins went about their work, counting various jewels and coins of both Muggle and wizard origin. Some were writing in large leather-bound ledgers, others were examining the jewels that were to be weighed, and some led various witches and wizards through various doors.

The bank, while filled with people, was quiet. It must have some sort of silencing charm because not a single sound from the outside world could be heard. The only noises were those from within; the scratching of quills, the tings of bronze scales bowing under the weight of treasures, and the footsteps of Remus and the other people going about their day.

“We’d like to get access to a vault, please,” Remus’s voice came from beside Harry, making him startle. He had been too caught up in the slight almost silent noises from the goblins doing their work that anything other than that made him jump. The goblin, sitting at the counter and towering over Harry, looked at him in unconcealed amusement.

“Whose vault is it, sir?” the goblin asked, staring between the two of them disdainfully. He was no doubt judging them for their shabby attire.

“H-Harry Potter, sir,” Harry told the goblin, voice trembling just a bit in his nervousness. The goblin smiled at him, teeth almost bared in a grin. Harry was unsure of what that smile meant but Remus shifted slightly in front of him. _Protecting me?_ Harry wondered.

“Do you have your key?”

Hary froze. How could he have forgotten? Hagrid had had his key the first time around. Harry looked up at Remus, hoping that the man had somehow acquired it since the last time they spoke. The werewolf was frowning.

“Is there any way to get a new one?” Remus questioned the goblin politely. “Neither of us have it in our possession.”

“He’ll need to do a Blood Rite,” the goblin said.

Harry’s eyebrows creased in confusion. “A ‘Blood Rite’?” he blurted out, drawing the goblin’s and Remus’s attention. “What’s that?”

“It is a test that we do to ensure that witches or wizards who do not have their key are who they say they are,” the goblin explained, sneering slightly. “There is also an advanced version done annually on certain children to search for any inheritance for any dead bloodlines.”

“And I’ll have to get that done?” Harry asked, tilting his head to the side. He looked over at Remus. “Do you think that I could inherit other vaults than the one my parents left me?”

“It’s possible,” Remus said.

“It costs extra,” the goblin cut in, sneering at them once again.

“I can do it later,” Harry said. He planned to return to Diagon Alley a few more times after this first trip to get some other items without splurging in one day.

The goblin smiled crookedly and jumped from his chair. “Follow me,” he said, heading in the direction of a set of doors. Harry looked around in curiosity. He had never been through any of the doors that led off from the main room. The hallways here were just as he suspected, completely marble with golden inlays for added detailing. The doors here, instead of being bronze or silver, were instead dark wood with golden plaques stating various names and professions.

Their teller stopped in front of a singular door and the plaque read _Alkrass_ in large letters with _Vault Holder & Blood Rituals Expert_ below it in smaller lettering. The goblin knocked on the door and left, leaving Harry and Remus standing there and waiting for an answer.

They didn’t have to wait long before a voice said, “Come in.” Remus led them into the room and Harry gazed around him. The room differed vastly from the rest of the bank for the only marble here was the floor. Instead, the walls appeared to have regular wood paneling and tapestries of regal looking goblins on them. In front of them, behind a large wooded desk crowded with papers and various golden scales, sat a goblin.

He looked different than the teller, and his dark hair was peppered with grey and he was balding. He also had a beard with a wicked smile and sharp teeth behind it.

“State your business,” the goblin said.

“We’re here to get a Blood Rite done,” Remus told him. The goblin, whose nametag stated “Alkrass” in gold lettering, simply nodded.

“Regular or advanced?”

“Regular.”

“And for whom?” Alkrass asked, looking between the two behind square spectacles. Harry stood forward.

“Me, sir,” he said. “I don’t have a key for my vault. I’m Harry Potter, by the way.” The goblin sat back in his chair and looked at him appraisingly. Harry pulled off his cap and showed the goblin his scar before putting the cap back on.

“So you appear,” Alkrass stated. “Step forward and hold your palm up.” Harry did so warily as the goblin pulled a piece of blank parchment out of a drawer. Alkrass waved a hand over it and then picked up a small knife.

“I will need a drop of blood to confirm who you are,” Alkrass said. Harry nodded even though Remus shifted beside him warily. The goblin, with his long fingers, gently grabbed one of Harry’s fingers and pressed the tip of the knife to it. Harry didn’t flinch as the skin split as he was used to pain. A small cut like this barely measured up to the Crutiatus.

Alkrass turned Harry’s hand over and allowed a drop of blood to splash against the parchment before releasing him. Harry stuck his finger in his mouth and watched as the blood appeared to sink into the parchment before glittering scarlet words crawled across the page.

It reminded Harry of the Blood Quill though this time no words etched themselves onto the back of his hand and his finger had already stopped bleeding. Whatever the page said made Alkrass nod affirmatively and he placed the parchment back down. The goblin bustled around and pulled out a small cube of golden metal, placing it on the table.

“We are now going to make your key, Mr. Potter,” Alkrass said. “Please place your hand over the gold.” Harry did as told and Alkrass said a few harsh rasping words in some sort of language he couldn’t understand, though he suspected it was Gobbledegook, the native language of goblins. Harry felt a tug on his magic as the golden metal shined white and lifted from the desk, lengthening and thinning and becoming the shape of a large key old-looking key.

Harry dropped his hand and stared at it in wonder. Alkrass lifted the key and examined it. “Very well done,” Alkrass said, a smile on his face. He then placed the key onto the Blood Rite parchment and it glowed again, this time dimmer. There was another tug on his magic and Harry had a feeling that it was keying into whatever magic there was around his vaults.

“And there you are,” Alkrass said, rolling up the parchment and handing Harry the key. “I have been the vault holder for the Potter vaults for decades now, Mr. Potter. I would assume that you would like me to remain in that position?” After a swift look at Remus, Harry nodded.

“Yes, sir,” he said. Alkrass hummed and snapped his fingers over the parchment, making him blink.

“Good, good, everything is in order. Shall I call someone to take you to your vault?” Another nod. Alkrass wrote on a piece of paper and placed it in a silver tray where it promptly burst into flames. Harry jerked in surprise and stared at it in wide eyes. Alkrass simply leered at him. It took a few moments before there was another ball of flame and a paper floated into the tray.

Harry tilted his head to the side. That very much reminded him of the way Fawkes traveled. Could the magic be the same?

“Someone will be here in a moment,” Alkrass informed Harry and Remus. And then, when someone knocked on the door, he said, “A pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Potter.”

  
  


The trip down to the vault was swift, and after Harry played surprise at the amount of money he had, he collected what he needed. He handed handfuls of gold to Remus to hold onto while piling some into his own pockets. He did it swiftly as guilt overcame him. Here he was with mounds of gold while Remus struggled to hold a job due to his werewolf status

At the suggestion of the goblin accompanying them, Harry bought a money pouch with an expansion charm as well as a direct link to his bank that only he could access. He left the Galleons he handed to Remus in the man’s pockets, hoping that he would forget about them. It was no luck when he promptly dumped the large golden coins into the bag.

“So, where to first?” Harry asked, bouncing as he looked around the alleyway.

Remus looked over Harry’s clothes and promptly stated, “Madam Malkin’s.”

Harry grinned and followed Remus cheerfully toward Madam Malkin’s. The shop was empty save for a few teen girls drooling over a fancy dress in the far corner of the shop.

“Hogwarts, dear?” the squat witch asked with a smile, echoing the first words Harry heard from her six years ago. Well, six years for him. This _was_ the first time he was meeting the woman in this timeline. Harry simply nodded while Remus took a seat on a bench. Thankfully, when Harry was steered to stand on a stool, there was no Draco standing beside him.

Madam Malkin slipped a set of robes over Harry’s head. They were far too large and the hem pooled around his feet. The sleeves hanged inches past his fingers and Harry’s face burned in embarrassment. The robes were obviously meant for a regular-sized eleven-year-olds, but Harry was short and scrawny, having more in common physically with an eight-year-old than a kid his age.

“Do I have to wear robes?” Harry asked suddenly, blinking. He could remember wearing the dress-like garment his first year before he had switched to a pair of trousers and a button-down with the rest of his class from second year onward. However, he could remember students, particularly those in Slytherin (though he saw some in all houses), wearing trousers and regular shirts beneath a set of light cloaks. Or perhaps those were robes, as well?

Madam Malkin, who was currently pinning Harry’s robes to fit him properly, blinked up at him owlishly. Harry’s face burned again. “I-sorry, but I thought some students wore trousers and shirts?” he said sheepishly.

“Oh,” Madam Malkin said, blinking. “Most do. Robes are typically worn during school hours and students often switch to regular Hogwarts uniforms; trousers and button-downs, though those are typically reserved for second-years and older. There are also a variety of robes that are mean to act as sleeved cloaks. Would you prefer those?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, please, ma’am. Can I also get fitted for the trousers and button-downs, as well as some other casual wear? I kinda need some new trousers and shirts.” Madam Malkin, who had pulled the robe off Harry, looked at the clothes he was wearing and clicked her tongue.

“Yes, you do!” she exclaimed. The woman pulled out a magical tape measure and began to furiously measure him. The tape measured the length of his arms and legs, wrapped around his throat and middle, and embarrassingly, measured around his… bits. When the woman pulled his t-shirt off to properly fit him for shirts, Harry was glad that he had pulled on one of Dudley’s very old tank tops. It hid the welts that were covering his back and Madam Malkin didn’t order him to pull it off, either, so that was a win.

However, just the tips of red were visible if one looked closely enough, and even though the tank top, you could clearly see his ribs and spine. His collar-bone stuck out sharply and it was pretty clear that he was more than just _skinny_. It was a good thing that Madam Malkin had clothes on him more often than not.

Harry met Remus’s eyes and resigned himself to standing there for a while longer at the amusement in the man’s gaze. Harry just scowled at him. He had asked for a few bloody shirts, not a full make-over and wardrobe. At least the woman hadn’t spotted the scar on his forehead. She probably would have insisted on him getting dressing robes or something.

Finally when everything was done, Harry left the shop many Galleons lighter and dressed in a pair of black slacks and a dark green button-down, his new plain black cloak thrown over his shoulders and clasped at the hollow of his throat. A wizard’s now sat on his head to hide his scar. It felt rather odd as he had rarely bothered with wearing his hat the last time but he supposed that it was quite useful.

No one seemed to recognize him.


	6. snape, snape, severus snape

**Chapter Five**

_snape, snape, severus snape_

* * *

“Why didn’t you let me buy you a new suit?” Harry grumbled to Remus as they walked out of the shop, Harry tucking the order form for his new clothes into his pockets. Madam Malkin only had enough time to get Harry a new pair of clothes but he would have to pick up or request his clothes to be sent to him via the owl mail.

Remus shook his head in exasperation. “Because we’re getting _your_ things today, Harry,” Remus said. “And it’s _your_ money, not mine.”

Harry turned to the werewolf with a raised eyebrow. “And am I not allowed to do what I want with my own money, then?” he asked. Remus stopped and stared at him for a second, mouth working with no words coming out. Suddenly, he smiled wistfully as he shook his head with a chuckle.

“What?”

“You sound just like your father,” Remus said fondly. Harry tilted his head to the side.

“What do you mean?” he asked warily, memories of Snape sneering those same words at him coming to mind. “That I sound like my father?”

“James and Sirius were always offering to buy me things after we left school,” Remus said, shaking his head. Harry smiled. His father and godfather must have been good friends to do that. Sure, he knew that they became animagi for Remus, but actually buying the werewolf clothes and such was something that made him smile.

“I’m going to buy you a set of robes for Christmas,” Harry said resolutely in triumph. Remus just sighed gustily.

“The _adult_ is supposed to get the _child_ gifts, Harry,” Remus said, shaking his head as he lead the way toward the stationary shop. “Not the other way around.” Harry just smiled at him smugly as he wandered through the store, picking up a few scrolls of parchment and a few quills. On impulse, he picked up a shimmering soft-teal quill, turning it over in his hands. It wasn’t your usual quill, he knew. The price of it made it clear. Where a full bundle of quills was a few Sickles, this singular quill was five times the price of his wand. The other thing was that it _hissed_ with magic.

“That’s a Quetzalcoatl feather,” Remus explained, reaching out to run his finger along the side of the quill gently. At Harry’s confused expression, he elaborated, “A type of feathered serpent. They’re also known as Occamies. They’re native to South America, India, and Eastern Asia.”

“It’s beautiful,” Harry murmured, tilting the feather and watching as the sunlight danced on the vane of the quill. “It has magic in it.”

Remus made a thoughtful sound as he looked over the sign for the quills. “Yes, they typically do. Many magical snakes are quite powerful. That’s why the quill is so expensive. They’re spelled to draw ink from an inkwell. Apparently, all you have to dip it in any inkwell you choose and it’ll draw from it until it’s empty.”

A thought crossed Harry’s mind and he smirked at Remus. “From _any_ inkwell?” he asked innocently. Remus just shook his head with an amused smile and muttered something about being “James’s twin.” Harry just continued to smirk and he marveled the beautiful feather for a few moments longer. Then, reluctantly, he placed it back on its display.

“Enough scheming,” Remus said, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder in the direction of the front counter to purchase his stationery supplies.

“Do you think that we can go to Muggle shops to get some notebooks?” Harry asked Remus as he handed over the Galleons for his three-hundred inches of scrolls, a bundle of thirteen quills, and twenty inkpots. “I think they’ll be easier to use thank scrolls of parchment.”

“Sure,” Remus said, looking over Harry’s list of items. Harry saw the werewolf tap the page beside _Stationery supplies_. The next things on the list were _1 Cauldron (pewter size 2)_ and _1 set of glass or crystal phials_.

“What’s the difference between glass and crystal for vials?” Harry asked, frowning. He knew that one was more expensive than the other but that was pretty much the extent of his knowledge.

Remus was also frowning. “I actually don’t know. Perhaps we should stop by _Slug and Jigger’s Apothecary_. They have books on potions there and the owner knows quite a lot about potions. I’ll ask him.” Harry nodded and they headed toward the apothecary, weaving around various families to locate it.

“Go ahead and look around for the first years’ kit,” Remus told Harry as they entered the quiet shop, his nose wrinkling at the smells. “I need to talk to the shop owner about some potions.” Harry nodded and wondered what type of potions Remus was looking for. He knew that the Wolfsbane potion was very expensive and that the man couldn’t afford it, so maybe he was looking for something that helped him when he got sick around the time of the full moon? He knew that Remus had often spent a few days in the medical wing at Hogwarts during that time.

While Remus spoke with the shop owner, Harry wandered around in curiosity. He eyed up the golden cauldron and he still itched to have it, though he knew that he would have to get better at potions before he even decided to buy it. He wasn’t sure that Snape was going to help him with that.

He had been interested in potions the first time around, but Snape’s treatment of him had more or less stamped all that enthusiasm out. The only time he really enjoyed potion-making had been when Slughorn had been his teacher even though Hermione would say that he had been cheating. (Which, he admitted, he kind of did.) It wasn’t really his fault that he didn’t know anything about potion-making, however. Their textbooks never detailed why you stirred this way or that or why you removed the cauldron from the heat before adding an ingredient. They didn’t even tell you which vials to use!

Harry plucked a book from a bookcase upon seeing the title _Potions Basics for the Uninformed_ by a Les Caulder on the spine. As he flipped through it, he realized that it went over everything he had trouble with in potions; stirring techniques, the art of pouring potions, how to cut certain types of ingredients, correct temperatures upon removing and adding cauldrons, and even types of runes you can mark on your cauldron to prevent it from exploding, bubbling over, and even spells from hitting it.

 _Talk about the Devil and he shall appear_ , he thought to himself.

“A very fine choice of potions instruction,” a deep voice said from behind him. Harry jumped. He had been too focused on the book that he hadn’t realized that someone had been looking over his shoulder. Upon turning around, he froze. Snape was standing behind him, dressed in his usual black robes, and with an armful of supplies in his hands and other jars floating behind him.

“I-I’m, uh, kinda new to all this,” Harry stuttered out, trying to shake the image of Snape’s bloody body from his mind. “I don’t really know anything about potions but I’m really interested in learning!” Harry could have sworn that he saw Snape’s lip twitch but the man’s face was schooled into an unemotional mask.

“You look younger than a first-year,” Snape commented dryly, no doubt noticing Harry’s small stature and size.

Harry looked down and toed the ground. “My aunt and uncle say that I take the food out of my cousin’s mouth so I don’t get to eat much,” Harry admitted, shrugging. “That’s probably why I’m small.” He looked up at Snape’s face from beneath his lashes and noticed the man’s expression was now a scowl, his lips drawn into a thin line. Harry felt kind of bad for manipulating the man, but he wanted to get on the man’s good side as soon as possible. If gaining the man’s sympathy by manipulation was the way to go, then Harry was fine with doing so. Kind of. He still felt a smidgen of guilt.

“It’s okay, though. Do you need any help with your items, sir?” Harry said, changing the subject. Snape gave him a look that clearly said that his transition wasn’t very smooth. He just smiled innocently.

“I do not,” Snape sneered slightly before he nodded at an adjacent shelf. “However, you should buy the book titled _Potions Opuscule_ by Arsenius Jigger. It is a great introduction into the art of potion-making for those without any… experience.”

Harry grabbed the suggested book in interest with a thankful smile. He could remember a few students carrying it around and he was interested in what information it held. “Thank you, Mr...”

“ _Professor_ Snape,” Snape informed him. “I am the Potions Master and Professor at Hogwarts. If you are searching for the first years’ potion kits, they’re over there.” Snape nodded toward the back wall that held a case with dozens of vials. Harry grinned at Snape, and after grabbing the potions kit, followed the man as he headed toward the front of the store.

Remus was standing along the wall with his purchase and was currently watching Snape warily when Harry walked up to him. “I found the potions kit, Remus,” Harry said cheerfully, watching from the corner of his eye as Snape tensed and turned his narrowed eyes to him.

“Do you know Professor Snape?” he continued innocently. He brandished _Potions Opuscule_ to the werewolf. “He showed me this really cool book. Potions seem wicked and he says that he’s the professor for the class! Isn’t that great? He also said that _Potions Basics for the Uninformed_ is a really good book, too. I can’t wait to read it.”

 _A little flattery will get you everywhere,_ Harry thought, hiding a grin at Snape’s smug expression and Remus’s obvious disbelief.

“That’s… good,” Remus said, offering Snape a polite smile before turning back to Harry. “Did you get everything you need?”

Harry frowned. “We still need to get my cauldron and I still don’t know the difference between glass and crystal vials.”

“Mr. Potter, is it?” Snape asked, sneering Harry’s name slightly. Still, Harry played nice and nodded. “The difference is that crystal phials can hold the magical properties of potions better than glass ones can. That is why all professional potions experts use them.”

Harry tilted his head to the side and said slowly, “So… glass ones are more likely leak magic which could mess up some potions? But crystal ones don’t?”

Snape looked at Harry appraisingly and gave a sharp nod. “Correct, Mr. Potter,” he said. Harry smiled brightly at him. Harry waited as Snape dumped his armful of items, as well as the items that had been floating behind him onto the counter. Snape didn’t deign to say goodbye other than to give Harry a nod and to send a sharp glance toward Remus.

“Do you know him?” Harry asked, tone curious as he dumped his books and first year kit onto the counter, as well as a size two pewter cauldron. The shop owner counted Harry’s items and he passed over the appropriate amount of coin. Remus was still blinking at the door where Snape had left out of, his mouth working.

“We went to school together,” Remus said shortly before offering a smile. “He was in Slytherin, though. Your father and I were in Gryffindor.” Harry tilted his head to the side.

“What’re those?”

“Two of the Hogwarts houses,” Remus explained as he shrunk Harry’s items and handed them to him. “When you go to Hogwarts you’ll be sorted into four houses; Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Both of your parents were in Gryffindor and so were our friends.

“Your father and I didn’t quite get along with Professor Snape,” he said slowly, his tone polite but slightly strained. “Slytherins and Gryffindors don’t usually get along. Many see Slytherins as… dark.”

“Evil?” Harry asked, furrowing his brows. He wanted to truly see what Remus’s views on the snake house were.

To his pleasant surprise, Remus shook his head. “No, not necessarily evil. True, many evil _and_ dark wizards have come out of Slytherin that doesn’t mean they’re all evil, despite what others may think.”

Harry frowned at the ground as they headed toward their next shop. “Do you… Do you think that I’ll be in Slytherin?” Harry surprised himself to find that he was actually worried about the prospect of being put in that house. The Sorting Hat _had_ wanted to put him there originally and Harry _had_ been using more than a few of Slytherin’s shining traits this past month.

Remus stopped them and pulled Harry off to the side so that they wouldn’t get trampled by crazed witches and wizards doing their last-minute school shopping. He crouched down in front of Harry and laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Harry, whether you’re put in Slytherin or if you’re put in Gryffindor shouldn’t matter.” When Harry opened his mouth to protest, Remus interrupted him. “ _Yes_ people are prejudiced against Slytherins, I won’t deny that. That won’t make you _evil_ , okay?” Harry nodded and they continued to their next shop; _Flourish and Blotts_.

Harry was tempted to sneak in a few extra books other than his school books and he very nearly succeeded in buying _Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying, and Much, Much More_ before Remus caught him. And although he promised that he wasn’t going to play tricks on Dudley, the werewolf guilted him into putting the book back on the shelf.

 _I probably know all the spells anyway,_ Harry mentally grumbled to himself as he headed out of the shop before reminding himself that he was just going to come back here anyway and he could look through it then.

A slight tapping noise drew Harry’s attention to _Eeyelops Owl Emporium._

“Oh!” he exclaimed, drawing Remus’s attention. “Can I get an owl?” Harry didn’t wait for Remus to answer him and he rushed into the shop, mentally cursing himself for forgetting about Hedwig. His eyes slid over various barn, brown, screech, tawny and barred owls before they stopped on a singular snowy owl with amber eyes sitting high up on a perch..

“I want her,” Harry said firmly to the shopkeep.

“Are you sure, son?” the older man asked, skirting around the counter. “That snowy owl’s quite unfriendly--”

Harry didn’t bother to let the man finished, simply holding his arm out, refusing to keep his eyes off of Hedwig's. As if she knew him, the snowy owl swooped down and landed gently on his arm. Harry pet her breast, causing the owl to playfully nip his fingers. Harry grinned at her and finally turned to the shopkeep.

The man’s eyes were slightly wide and he was speechless. Remus, who stood beside him, simply looked a little surprised. “I want her,” he said firmly. “Yesterday, you said owls were smart and that they can find anyone. I’m going to need an owl if I’m going to write to you, aren’t I?”

Remus just smiled. “She likes you,” he said, nodding to Hedwig. “It would be a crime to keep her away from you.” Harry grinned at him and turned to the employee who swiftly stammered out the price and suggested various items he may need. While Harry turned down the need for a cage, he accepted a bag of owl treats, a bowl charmed to make the water always fresh and not go stale, a food bowl, and some jerky to feed her.

“Let’s see here...” Remus said, pulling out Harry’s list. “We got your uniform, your books, your stationary equipment, your potions ingredients, your cauldron, your telescope...” He frowned. “Oh, you still need your telescope and your scales.” They made a swift detour to Wiseacre’s Wizarding Equipment and Remus went over the list again.

“Oh!” he exclaimed, golden eyes flashing. “You’re wand’s the last thing on the list.”

“That’s pretty important, I assume,” Harry said sarcastically, making Remus chuckle.

“Very,” Remus nodded. He steered them to the small unassuming two-story building and the tinkling of a bell somewhere in the shop was the only thing to announce their entrance. Harry looked around. The room seemed to hum with magic and Harry could feel hundreds of different slivers of magic in the air. It seemed to surround him, all sounds dimming from the outside world.

Remus elected to stand beside the door rather than sit on the spindly chair that Hagrid crushed in the first timeline.

The thousands of dust-covered boxes still lined the shelves and the magic he could feel reminded him much of the feathered serpent quill he held earlier. But instead of the air hissing like the quill’s magic did, the room felt strangly warm and it vibrated.

“Good afternoon,” a soft voice said, causing Harry to jump and snap out of his thoughts. He turned and met the pale silver eyes of Mr. Ollivander that were shinning in the dim light like moons.

“Hullo,” Harry said softly, feeling slightly creeped out at the old man’s stare.

“Ah, yes. Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter,” Mr. Ollivander said, echoing the same words he said to Harry six years earlier. “You have your mother’s eyes. It seems only yesterday that she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

Mr. Ollivander stepped closer to him and Harry heard Remus shift from where he stood next to the door.

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it—it’s really the wand that chooses the wizard.”

The man’s shining silver eyes lifted to look over Harry’s shoulder. “Ah, Remus Lupin. I remember you very well. Ten and a quarter inches long, cypress, and unicorn hair. Perfect for light magic—Defence Against the Dark Arts. Is it still serving you well?”

“Yes, it is,” Remus’s voice came from behind Harry. Harry turned to look at Remus and he easily noticed how uneasy the werewolf looked. _You and me both._

Mr. Ollivander turned back to Harry and he flinched back when the man lifted a long pale white finger to trace his scar. “And that’s where… I’m very sorry to say that I sold the wand that did that,” Mr. Ollivander said mournfully. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I’d known what that wand was going out into the world to do…”

Mr. Ollivander then shook his head, quite possibly shaking off the guilt of selling the wand that took many people’s lives and tortured even more.

“Erm, sir, could I possibly buy my wand, please?” Harry asked, shuffling his feet nervously. When Mr. Ollivander blinked and turned to Harry again, there was something almost like knowing in his eyes.

“Of course, of course, Mr. Potter,” Mr. Ollivander said, pulling a tape measure from his robes. “Which is your wand arm?”

Harry shrugged and held out his right arm. “This is the one I write with, so this one?” Mr. Ollivander simply nodded and began to measure him in a flurry, much like Madam Malkin did earlier. But instead of doing it himself, he let the magic do the measuring as he began to browse the shelves of wands. He pulled box after box off the shelves, some of them covering dust and others not. Mr. Ollivander stacked them on the desk and turned around.

A simple, “That will do,” stopped all movement and the tape measure and its silver markings fell to the ground.

And so, Mr. Ollivander began offering wand after wand to Harry, who swiftly became frustrated with the constant run of _swish and flick_. None of these wands were his, yet he could _feel_ his wand. It was thrumming much stronger than the simple hum that was in the air. But, he simply covered his frustrations as best as he could because he knew that he was going to get his wand again.

And then… “Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere—I wonder, now—yes, why not—unusual combination—holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. _My wand!_ he thought joyfully as Mr. Ollivander pulled it out of the box, and held it out to him. He didn’t bother to listen to the man’s curious mutterings as he eagerly pulled the wand into his hand, a warmth unlike any other rushing through him as he was paired with his much.

A variety of sparkes flew from the tip of his wand; gold and scarlet, and green and silver.

Harry heard Remus clap and Ollivander started rambling about how curious his wand pair was. Harry simply distracted him with a simple, “Are wand holsters a thing?”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Mr. Ollivander said, rushing to his desk and handing Harry a dragonskin holster. “That will be eight Galleons, Mr. Potter.” Harry easily forked over the gold and turned to Remus.

“Hey, Remus,” he said. “I just realized that I don’t have anything to carry any of my school things in. Do you want to go check out trunks and bags? I kind of want to talk with Mr. Ollivander about wands. You don’t have to, of course, I just don’t know anything about wands and I—”

“Of course, Harry,” Remus said, cutting off his rambling. “I’ll go look at some of the shops for a trunk. I have to pick up some things anyway. Don’t go anywhere until I come back, okay?” Harry nodded and watched as Remus walked out of the shop, feeling quite proud of himself. He should have felt guilty about lying to Remus, but it wasn’t like he was _lying_ lying. He _did_ need a trunk and a school bag, after all.

He turned to where Mr. Ollivander was staring at him and Harry shifted nervously. He needed to ask Mr. Ollivander something but he wasn’t quite sure how to go about it. So, he summoned his inner Gryffindor.

“Can I get another wand?” Harry asked Mr. Ollivander while strapping his old-new one to his forearm. Mr. Ollivander lifted a brow and Harry explained sheepishly. “I want another one just in case this one breaks or is taken from me. I’ve had my things stolen from me before and I kind of gathered that wands are really important…”

“Hmm…” Mr. Ollivander hummed, heading into the back room. Harry watched as the man fiddled about and was surprised when he returned not with a finished wand and its box, but rather a few boxes full of different materials. “I will allow you to choose your materials, Mr. Potter. This is an old tradition that my father tended to adhere to. Just let your wand hand hover over the boxes and feel them through your magic. You will know what is right for you.”

Harry stepped forward as the man pushed some papers off his desk and lined up all the boxes. One box was filled with various woods and some other substances, another was filled with quills and whiskers, another with what suspiciously looked like bones, and the last was filled with jewels, twigs, and other odds and ends. None of these boxes resembled the items Ollivander used in his current wands save for the blocks of wood.

At an encouraging glance from Ollivander, Harry stepped forward and held his right hand over the first box. With magic hovering in the air, Harry had to close his eyes to concentrate. As he focused harder and harder on the magic in the air, various bright lines of separate colors lit up in his mind. Deciding that it was the magic of all the wands around him (and mentally making a note to try sensing magic later), Harry focused on the box below his hand.

All of the colors were different than the ones in the rest of the store, some more murky and dark, and others bright pure colors. Harry decided that the wood in this box was from older trees that probably couldn’t be found today. However, nothing in the box called to him.

Frowning, Harry dropped his hand and turned to look at Mr. Ollivander. “Nothing in this box calls to me,” he stated, shrugging at the man’s curious look. “Can I look at the wand cores instead?”

The man nodded and Harry repeated what he did with the first box.

Instead of the faint humming, Harry had felt on the first box, one of the materials here positively _sang_. Curious, Harry allowed his magic to flow from his hand and he brushed against the singing core softly. Almost immediately, something flew into his hand. Harry wrapped his fingers around it instinctively and opened his eyes, turning his hand over.

There was a long strand of dark hair that was nearly as thick as a strand of uncooked angel hair spaghetti. Harry could faintly see the magic surrounding it when he focused and instead of a bright pure color, the magic was dark, black, but still shimmering.

Harry looked up at Mr. Ollivander in concern. The man looked astonished but Harry was unsure if the man was reacting to the wand core jumping into his hand or the item itself.

“Curious, Mr. Potter, very curious,” Mr. Ollivander murmured his favorite phrase, holding his hand out toward the wand core. Harry dropped the thick stand into Mr. Ollivander’s hand and watched as the man felt it. “I am curious, Mr. Potter. Have you ever seen death?”

Harry blinked and then looked closer at the hair in the man’s hand. It had looked familiar when he had been looked at it, but now paired with Mr. Ollivander’s words, he realized what the hair actually was. It was a strand of Thestral hair, but Harry was unsure if it was from a tail or a main.

He nodded at the man’s question and ignored his searching gaze. “My mother,” he said softly.

Mr. Ollivander hummed. “That

Without being asked, Harry held his hand out over the box filled with bones of varying colours. He searched for the magic as he had last time and brushed against the magic of the item, gripping the bone that flew into his hand. Harry stared at the bone curiously when it hissed in his hand rather than sang.

The bone was actually a black horn with faint silver lines, though Harry was unsure what animal it was from. He had never seen that type of horn before but could easily admit that it was beautiful. It had large smooth ridges at the base that became smaller and sharper toward the top. A few inches from the base that looked like a handle, it twirled up into a somewhat sharp tip, resembling that of a spiral-horned antelope’s tightly spiraled horn. The horn was quite long and the base looked like it could sit easily upon a silver Sickle which was an inch in diameter. It was around thirteen inches long, two inches longer than his usual wand.

Mr. Ollivander had that same hidden smile on his face as he took the horn. “You can speak to snakes, can you not?” he asked. Harry didn’t bother to ask how he knew and he simply nodded. Mr. Ollivander held the horn up. “A shard of a horned serpent’s horn was used as a wand core in North America to the founders of the Ilvermnorny school, and had been known to vibrate at the sign of danger to those who were Parselmouths. I can only imagine what a full horn used as the wand casing itself could do.”

Harry could no longer feel a faint hissing of magic from the horn but it still called out to him. Mr. Ollivander gestured to the next box and Harry sensed out another object. When he opened his eyes, a green gem akin to the colour of his eyes glowed in the palm of his hand. It hummed in a low musical tone similar to the hissing the horn’s magic did.

“Is this another part of a horned serpent?” Harry speculated, admiring the beauty of the stone as he folded it over in his hand. It was big enough that it could fit the base of the horn casing, especially since the horn had a divet in the bottom of it. Mr. Ollivander hummed appreciatively at his correct observation and Harry reluctantly handed him the jewel. The musical tone it emitted was intoxicating to listen to and it gave Harry a faint sense of protection. He wanted to hold that jewel in his hand forever.

“Horned serpents with jewels are quite rare. They are said to grant their owner the power of flight and invisibility amongst others, but how they do so is unknown,” Mr. Ollivander explained, twisting the glittering gem between his long pale fingers. “It is quite interesting that you picked the only two items I have that are from the same animal that you can speak to and understand.”

Harry nodded and looked at the objects in the man’s hands. He could already see an image of the wand in his mind and he could tell that it was going to be quite the beautiful wand. It was also going to be quite expensive, however. Rummaging around in his money pouch, Harry counted out fifty Galleons and handed them to the older wizard, and picked up a dark green dragonhide calf holster.

“Will this cover the cost of it all?” he asked Mr. Ollivander. The man’s wispy brows rose at the price, and when he tried to hand Harry a few Galleons back, Harry refused. “I can’t accept any of that back. Any part of a horned serpent is expensive. I don’t want to cut you short.”

Mr. Ollivander simply nodded and promised, “This will be the best wand I’ve crafted yet, Mr. Potter. You can come to retrieve it at the end of your trip.”

Harry smiled. “Thank you.” He then headed toward Remus as Mr. Ollivander began to look over his second wand’s ingredients in excitement.


	7. note

I know I only just started this fic but I feel that I'm basically copying different parts of other stories and mashing them together. Yes, many of the ideas are my own and I've not directly copied anything (especially without permission) but I still don't really like what I've done, particularly from the first chapter onward. I've introduced Remus too fast and it's ruined what I had planned. I'm going to leave what I have up but I'm going to spend some time working on another fic while I focus to get my mind back on track. Anyone's welcomed to use what I have so far if they want (credit due, of course) but I'm going to continue with a fic that I've already written a few chapters for. Sorry for the disappointment! Once I've written a few chapters of how I want the story to go, I'll either say this is complete, or I'll delete it completely.

Let me know your thoughts, please.

Amber Serpent


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